


Fight For It

by gala_apples



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Coming Out, Homophobia, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby doesn't realise what he has, until someone else has it. And once someone else has John, he has to fight to get him back. This fic splits off at X2, and presumes John comes back to the school after a few days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight For It

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Inootz, I have artwork of John and Rory together. It's [here](http://i122.photobucket.com/albums/o247/inootz/graphics/inootz_fightcolour.jpg).
> 
> This was written in 2008, before Wolverine came out to ruin my use of Remy. I have also co-opted Jean Paul, he's no longer a Olympian from the 1970's, though he is still gay, and still French Canadian.

These days there's always at least one adult gone. Ever since Stryker and his bullshit, mutants are being targeted more and more. It's ridiculous how the best of intentions can be skewed by stupidity and hatred. Inside the oval office, talking to the president, they had both seemed to understand that this could be war. No one wanted it, so it was the president's job to tone the country down, make an environment where mutants wouldn't be feared and loathed.

The thing no one had counted on was the demographic the president was speaking to. For many, he was preaching to the choir. But for a distinct portion, he had betrayed them. The staunch believers in a mutant registry, trying to push as many anti-mutant laws as possible, they felt abandoned.

Ms. Munroe had taught them all in history class that when the common man feels abandoned by their government, they fight for attention. Protests, letters to the media, and on the less frequent side of the scale; rioting. Good portions of the common man were responding to the president's comments by taking it on their shoulders to beat the crap out of every possible mutant.

Things were getting dangerous for outsiders. One didn't need to have lavender skin or a tail to seem mutant-like, all it might take was a raver girl dyeing her hair blue. Some monitored habits and accused based on ridiculous ideas; psychologists were telepaths, television wrestlers had regenerative powers. People were turning on those nearest them, in hopes that no one looked at them the next week with the same hatred. It was like the witch trials of yesteryear.

Bobby isn't surprised when the older students are asked to tutor the younger students in areas they've already mastered. All the X-Men are preoccupied with making sure innocent people don't get killed, mutant and normal alike. There's been an influx of adults and families they've never seen coming for a week or two to recover and relocate to safer towns. It's becoming an entire system of cooling hotspots and helping escaped survivors. It reminds him of the stories of the Underground Railroad. Except in this case, Canada can be just as dangerous, Alberta going as far as to block the border in case mutants come in.

He's teaching five students about the suffrage movement, and an older male about basic human anatomy and biology. There's a list of things on the library wall, things that have to be known before the end of the year. They have to take the standard tests to prove this private school is running just as smoothly as a public school. Bobby hopes the world can pull together before June, he has no idea how someone is supposed to both proctor and write an exam.

Rogue and Kitty seem stunned that John's teaching nearly everyone English. From essay writing to poetry analysis, he can do it better than almost anyone else. Professor Xavier is far too busy to teach anything, and secretly Bobby is happy. John has the ability to translate the classics into reality, and then everyone can talk about it. Professor Xavier tended to go straight to talking, not checking to see if everyone understood the Shakespearian or classic Grecian writing first. Bobby isn't stupid, but he doesn't have the best handle on metaphors, and Shakespeare is nothing but metaphor.

John teaches twice a day, twenty kids gathered around him in the morning, and twenty-five in the evening. He wonders if John gets sick of the same material over and over again, and once again when some don't get it and go to him for questions. In fact, in the last month there's hardly been a day when someone doesn't stop by their bedroom to ask John something. If he does get annoyed, he never shows it, and that's better than Scott can do with repeated mechanical questions.

Some people can't bring themselves to learn from a 'traitor', even though his defect lasted less then a day. Bobby's looking forward to them failing the English tests at the end of the year. Things happen, and the people that can't understand that don't deserve respect. At least not Bobby's.

Days are a blur of learning and teaching, occasionally a student leaving with Storm or Cyclops because the child they're picking up has been beaten silly by their parents, and will only leave if there's a child their age promising it'll be safe. Nights are slower, cards and Nintendo Wii and people asking impossible questions. No matter how many times it's asked, no one can answer 'why are we hated' or 'when will it be safe again'. Sometimes Bobby thinks the answers are 'just because' and 'never'.

The school is filling up more than anyone could have imagined. When Bobby first came here, there were only ten students, and Scott and Ororo and Jean were three. Now they're Mr Summers and Ms. Munroe and dead people don't have last names. Before they fucked things up talking to the president, there were about sixty people. Now there are close to a hundred, and more are pouring in every day.

The adults used to tell him things, Jean talking to him was as normal as the sun rising. Now he learns from the other student telepaths, who are struggling without a constant teacher. Bobby worries sometimes that the school will be releasing students with no ethics. Professor Xavier hasn't had much time to lecture the telepaths about asking before reading, hasn't had time for anything except Cerebro and saving lives.

Monet says the adults are considering setting up schools across North America. She says there's already one, in Massachusetts. Most of the students are shocked. Bobby already knew there was a school, all the teachers hate the headmaster there. However, he is surprised at the idea of there being more schools at first. Thinking about it though, it makes sense. When people are at war, there needs to be more then one safehouse. They probably won't be only schools either, more along the lines of posh refugee camps.

He's sad to think that Magneto was probably right, that there is going to be a war. In this day and age, conscription is impossible, and pacifists run rampant. Bobby's grateful for that, at least he won't have to take on most of the population. It will be weird though, both fighting alongside Magneto's henchmen against the humans, and fighting Magneto for the lives of the humans.

For now though, Bobby Drake is seventeen, and it's his job to pass high school. The fighting and killing and pain and death will come later. At this time, in this place, with these people, he feels safe.

*

The kitchen is almost across the mansion from the eating area. For the previous owners with their million maids and servants, Bobby's sure it made sense. After all, why would Mr and Mrs Uppington the 3rd want to smell the food cooking before it was brought to them on silver domed platters?

For this group of inhabitants, it definitely does not work. Everyone tramping in and out of the kitchen to grab their own food isn't pleasant. Things get spilled, those in line that get the colder food get angry. Nights like sloppy joe nights result in the smaller kids nearly being trampled, and those with tempers sparking. Or creating frost that climbs like latticework on the tiled backsplash. What can he say? He's a growing boy, he gets hungry.

Bobby can remember how the huge trays and vats used to be brought in by Jean. He remembers the first Thanksgiving he was at the school, horrified that the professor would let her do it. He had been terrified she would lose control and drop the turkey on the floor, but she hadn't. Every meal now he feels a pang of sadness before remembering he has to get on with things. It's a sobering thought, remembering that she won't be the only one he loves to die.

The meals are cooked by the same set of teens every day. It used to be on a rotating chore system, but no one ate on Monet's days, and she could hear their unspoken complaints. Around the same time that Logan came with Rogue in tow, chores got distributed more intelligently. Now Jean Paul and a few others ask around for what everyone wants, and they take care of it. In return, they never have to touch the garbage, or prune the hedges. Everyone's happier. Bobby only wishes all problems could be taken care of with a little shuffle of rescheduling.

Kurt transfers the food from kitchen to dining hall, bamphing noises echoing again and again. Bobby knows he used to be frightened about going through walls, but the German man seems to be over that now. Or maybe he's just hidden his fear, and is doing one of the thousand little things that makes everyone's life easier. Everyone seems to be trying to pick up a little of the million pound weight left on the property the day fucking Stryker came in and ruined everything. No one comments on the atmosphere, but everyone notices.

Breakfast today is plates and plates and plates of pancakes. Enough pancakes to feed an army. Which, thinking about it, is probably what they are. The navy plates hold blueberry, floral plates are oat and flax for the children with allergies, and the white plates are normal. Pounds of butter, jars of jam and bottles of syrup are on every table. There's nothing that Jean Paul and Douglas haven't thought of, and once again Bobby thanks god that they had changed the chores.

Further down the table Tessa's head perks up, and she whispers "Storm's back." The two words ripple down the table, and begin to be passed through the hall. They're all doing okay, but it's always a relief to have one of the old teachers back. The Professor is still here, but it generally doesn't seem like it.

The planting of a mutant can come in several different forms. It all depends on how they were taken away from their old situation. Some, like Bobby are taken away with full -albeit censored- understanding from parents. Some are picked up from the streets, and some are picked up hours or days after an emergency meltdown situation. Lately there's been the fourth category of entire groups of people hiding out, trying to figure out the best way to re-join the fray of the real world. They have a much different attitude than the others; they know this haven is only a temporary respite.

When Storm comes in the room, she's still in full leather regalia, and she sits the blond down beside Kitty, quite possibly the calmest kid in the mansion. It's a clue towards street kid or pickup-after-meltdown. But the fact that he's dressed in up to date, but not new clothes points to a kid coming from home. New clothes would mean they had to go shopping because the old ones are somehow ruined, and old clothes mean the street.

Bobby tries not to stare, as does everyone else. It's not that difficult. The flavour of the pancake on his tongue is screaming to be worshipped, demanding all his attention. Only when the kid asks into the air "Does anyone have a cell phone I can use for a second?" does Bobby look up again. He doesn't have one to offer, and he's sure none of the students sitting near this boy do. It's not that they don't want to help, it's just they can't. It's on the tip of his tongue to give directions to the nearest phone on the wall, and he's also sure it's the same for nearly every student hearing his request. Still, no one knows his situation. Maybe he's going to call the cops, considers this a kidnapping. They've learned from experience it's best to watch how the person picking the newbie up reacts, before they do.

Storm reaches into a pocket and pulls out one of the oddly shaped cells all the X-Men have.

"What's that number that means they can't call back?" he asks, again to no one in particular.

"No one will be able to trace your call Rory." So that's the name of this teenager. Bobby thinks it's a sign of leaving in a rush, to have to call someone you don't want to call back.

Bobby pretends for a moment he's not listening, twirling his empty fork in the air. When the teen starts talking though, he gives up all pretence of ignorance and listens in. He doesn't feel guilty, everywhere he looks there are people looking at Rory.

"Hello?

Hi.

I'm...

Look, stop it, would you?

I'm safe, okay?

Well, it should be good enough.

Yeah, I have them.

No, I can't tell you. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to, as well as I have no idea.

No! I was not blindfolded.

No, I wasn't hit on the head and dragged away.

Oh, shut up. Please, fucking just shut up."

The teen leans away from the cell phone a bit, and though no one can hear anything, it's obvious he's being yelled at. Rory takes a few deep breaths, and tries again.

"Look, I'm... fuck it."

He turns to Kitty beside him. "Finish this, would you?"

She takes the phone automatically as he holds it out to her. As soon as she does, he folds his arms and lays his head on them. His hair is about three inches from the strawberry jam, and he seems completely carefree about what this perfect stranger is going to say to whomever it is he knows well enough to have their number memorized.

"Hello? I'm Kitty. Um, I don't really know what to say, just that he's safe. And maybe he could call you back later? Yeah, I can take a message. Uh, okay? Right, sorry, bye." she clicks the phone closed and hands it back to Storm. There's not a single person in the room now that's not curious about the exchange, Bobby included.

"Uh? Rory?"

His only acknowledgement is a slight nod, hair wafting a bit in the sudden draft.

"She told you, uh, she doesn't think you've made the best decision."

He lifts his head and smirks. Bobby can't help but look at John; it's the exact calibre and quality of the ones John shoots off all the time. "She called me a motherfucking idiot, didn't she?"

Kitty blushes. "I'm sure she didn't mean it."

"I'm pretty sure she did." Those are his last words before he places his head back on his arms. When Piotr reaches tentatively to grab the jam, he doesn't move. The tables begin to go back to normal, knives and forks clinking on ceramic, people standing and stabbing the top pancake of the stack to transfer onto their plate. The new mutant has been planted successfully.

*

Bobby is polite, but he's also a teenage boy. So although he dumps his plate and glass in the tub at the end of the table after breakfast, he's not going to help clean up. Being one of the last in the room is tantamount to offering to do the dishes, the only chore he hates. Something about the idea of touching people's leftovers and stains just sickens him. He knows he never would have lasted on the streets, like nearly half the teens here.

He's halfway to the library when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It's hard not to be a bit paranoid these days, so when he whirls around he's got his hands up and ready to shoot ice. It's only Storm though. She's already changed into black pants and a white shirt that compliments her dark skin and white hair. Bobby thinks she's beautiful, but that's the kind of thing you can say to a friend, when one's thirteen and the other is nineteen. He's seventeen now, and she's a teacher.

"I've got to ask you something."

Bobby's hackles are up. Storm isn't the sort to mince words, though she's the kindest blunt person he's ever known. John is honest too, but in a much different way. For her to begin a conversation telling him she's got to ask something, instead of directly asking means something is wrong. Wrong enough that she doesn't want to ask him at all, but has to.

"What? If it's about my family, well-" he's not sure what he would have said, but it doesn't matter. She's shaking her head slightly, interrupting him.

"It's not. Bobby, I need you to room with Piotr and Sam."

He looks at her, not really understanding. She seems to be holding her breath, stuck in stasis for his response. He's got nothing of intelligence to say. "What?"

"I'm sure every student is aware that as more mutants are finding refuge here, more children are staying. I'm aware that many of the students know of the tentative plans of building another school, though problems occur in that arena for finding more suitable teachers. Bobby, you need to move your clothes and personal effects to Piotr and Sam's room. They can easily fit a third bed, you will not be pressed for space."

Bobby doesn't give a crap about space, he wants to know why. And so with an up-front attitude that comes with knowing the teachers before they were teachers he simply asks, "Why?"

"Our newest student, Rory Springfeld, needs a calming influence as he adjusts to this space."

It doesn't surprise Bobby at all, he's already figured out that Rory's one of the many that have left home due to an erratic show of power. It still doesn't explain why he has to move out of his room. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Storm. With her, less is more.

Sure enough, after a moment of silence she continues. "I feel that it would be most helpful to Rory's adjustment if he spends ample time with John."

Bobby's eyes widen, and he cannot get what she's said through his mind. It's like saying it would be helpful for a nervous chicken to spend time with a fox, or a blind person to get a job as a crossing guard. While not technically impossible, it's pure foolishness. Insanity.

Then it occurs to him that all the teachers have been out driving and piloting for hours at a time. They come home, get a good meal and a half night's sleep, and go back out on the Professor's orders. Maybe she has cracked. He doesn't really know how to approach the topic with her though. How do you ask someone if they've gone insane without sounding rude?

"Are you...?" he can't finish the question. It goes against every lesson of decorum his mom's ever taught him. He still tries to abide by her lessons, even if the last time she saw him she did let her son's best friends nearly get arrested and got his teacher murdered. Everyone's allowed a few mistakes.

"I know it seems odd to you Bobby. It does make sense, but I cannot reveal a student's confidence. I'm asking you to trust me and believe this is necessary."

He's spent four years in that same room. He knows how many wooden planks the floor is made of. He knows how many stains are on the ceiling, and can still remember how he caused every single one. "And if I don't want to move?"

"Bobby, I can understand your reluctance. However, I believe in that case I would have to ask some of the students to help me move your personal belongings."

So it's an ultimatum, regardless of how pleasant it's phrased. Move, or we'll move you. "Right, then."

For the second time, she puts a hand on his shoulder. This time when he jerks away he's not stunned, only angry. If he doesn't have a choice, he doesn't have a choice. He's been in that position more then once. That doesn't mean the person denying him gets to be kind. People who utter ultimatums do not get to feel sympathy for the person they're trying to fuck over.

He grabs a basket from the laundry room on his way to his ex-bedroom. He starts tossing his hanging clothes in the basket, and if his hands are starting to burn against the freezing cold metal hangers, well, that's the way life goes. It's easy to tell the difference between his clothes and John's. Not only is he bigger than John, he also has a habit of washing his clothes more frequently. As in, after one wearing, not five.

Opening the door to his new room is more difficult then he would have guessed. Turning the knob is akin to agreeing to being fucked over. Right now he doesn't care what the hell the new kid needs. Old kids should get sonority, get first dibs. The bedroom doesn't yet have a third bed, and Bobby wants to laugh at the sheer stupidity of it all. Wants to laugh when he realises he's beginning to cause a frost on the window. Who'd have thought moving ten rooms down the hall would be that upsetting?

But it is, and making repeated trips to move all the stuff he's collected over four years is not helping. It's not a clean break. And at that piece of inner monologue he actually does laugh out loud. It's not a fucking relationship, it's just a room. Besides the different posters, it's essentially the same as his old bedroom.

Except it's not. In some completely indefinable way, it's a complete 180 from everything.

*

He's only able to avoid the temptation to go back to his old room for slightly over twenty-four hours. By lunch the next day he's anxious, though he doesn't know why. It's not as though the new kid is going to spit on the walls and ruin his home. Judging by the morning's antics, he wouldn't have enough energy. He's heard that yesterday the teen fell asleep attending John's English tutoring, and again in one of the living rooms in the evening.

Maybe Rory is a narcoleptic mutant? Bobby shudders at the idea. It's bad enough to be a mutant struggling for control, he doesn't want to think about how much worse it would be to have a mental disorder and be a mutant. Imagine if Pyro had obsessive-compulsive disorder, and once he lit one fire, he'd have to light three more to make a perfect four. Or if one wants to think of ugly ironies, Storm with agoraphobia, unable to interact with the weather she causes. He's happy he's sane, it's just one less thing to deal with.

John looks at him as he puts his fork down and stands up. They have plans to work on John's math, an activity Bobby's looking forward to as much as he looks forward to a dentist appointment. Bobby mutters, "I'll be right back," and places his napkin protectively over his half-full plate. It's a futile measure against the bottomless pit that is his best friend, but he'll try anyway. He'll never understand John's claims that it tastes better when it's on someone else's plate, but he's pretty sure when he comes back his food will be gone.

He can’t say where he's going because it would piss John off. He has an unspoken pride about being chosen to help the new kid. Bobby going to make sure the new kid is okay means in John's mind that Bobby doesn't trust him. That's not what Bobby means at all, but it's just better to not go there at all.

Okay, if he's going to be honest, maybe that's a little bit what it means. He trusts John with his life, and fuck every single person that thinks John's a betrayer. They don't understand a thing. He'd also trust John with the people he loves. Ronny didn't get torched in John's fire, did he? However, he would never think to trust John with comfort. John doesn't strive to make people comfortable. He does what he wants and people can like it or not. In general, calm and comfort go hand in hand. If John doesn't care about anyone else's relaxation, why would he care about this new kid's? And if what Storm said is true, that Rory needs extra attention… Well, John wouldn't be the person Bobby'd pick to give him that.

John's the agitator, he's the soother. No one would say those words, but the concept is there, and everyone knows it. If John's had 20 hours with Rory, then it's high time that Bobby goes in to fix things. Before Rory explodes, or whatever type of release it is he has.

It's weird, to have to knock on your own bedroom door. It's not his bedroom, of course, not anymore. But there are stains and scorch marks he remembers John making on the door, it's as telling as a sign proclaiming the room to be theirs. He hears a muffled grunt, and takes that for acceptance. If it's not, well, that's what the infirmary is for. Hopefully Rory's power isn't too debilitating; Bobby has an essay to write. For John, which is supremely fucked up, but can't be helped.

The boy is slumped over his bed -Bobby's bed, a voice whispers inside his head- duvet half tangled between his legs. They're school sheets, yet another indicator he left in an emergency. The higher the ratio of school supplies to owning one's own stuff, the likelier the chance that he had to run for it. And clearly from the phone call yesterday morning, someone who cares about him has no idea where he is. Bobby knows the new students need help, just as much as he did when he first came to the school. He knows the best way to help is to know as much as possible. He doesn't consider it nosy, he's being helpful.

"Hey. I'm Bobby." He really wishes he knew this teen's abilities. The only thing he knows is that Rory needs a calming influence, and that's the nicer code word for he's unstable. It's not surprising, nearly all mutants come to the school are unstable. It's just a matter of degree. As in, is it dangerous to close the door, because Bobby's going to have to make a run for it?

"So you're the welcoming committee are you?" On the John Allerdyce scale of sarcasm, it is low, maybe a 1 out of 5.

"I would have brought your goodie basket, but I ran out of cellophane to wrap it with. Maybe tomorrow." You can't know John for three years and not be able to respond to rudeness with rudeness.

"Sounds good." The boy sits up and rubs his clenched fist over partially closed eyes.

"What do you want people to call you?" Bobby assumes Rory will be the response, he's answered to it more than once in the last day. If he wants to be called by a code name, he's going to have to get it ingrained in people's heads pretty soon, or Rory will be the default. It happened with John the same way. No matter how many times he calls himself Pyro, everyone calls him John because that's what he started off with.

"Well, I'm sure everyone heard the phone drama yesterday, which means you all know my born name is Rory. But for the other one, the mutant name - hey, does it ever seem to you that's sort of a black power kind of thing? We're taking back the name of the human oppressor and naming ourselves. The whole 'Rory is my slave name' kind of thing. Isn't it nice when minorities steal from other minorities?"

Bobby blinks and has no idea how to respond. He might be sarcastic and smirking like John, but John doesn't ramble. His friend is concise and blunt.

"But anyway. I think my mutant name might be Pen Huo Qi."

Now Bobby's outright staring. This chubby faced blond teenager is in no way Chinese. Or is that Japanese? Either way, he is definitely not from the East. He highly doubts anyone is going to be calling this guy that, and is a bit nervous about the fallout for being laughed at when he asks, because he still doesn't know how unstable Rory is.

"Huh." Ambiguous noises are generally safe.

Rory's adjusting the duvet around him so his back is bare but his front is covered. He still looks sleepy. Considering it's after eleven on a school day, it's a bit odd. Maybe he hasn't been to school in awhile.

"Bobby." It's the only word he says and it jolts him out of his unvoiced questions.

"Yeah?"

"No, just thinking. I do that a lot, you know? I like to think. I think that people would be a lot better off if they thought more."

He sounds like the poster boy for learning control, the exact replica of someone Professor Xavier would have loved to teach. Bobby feels bad for this guy, knowing that he won't get the same great experience of the school he had.

"Bobby, pass me a shirt, will you?" It's an order with a question mark on the end, but Bobby'll do it anyway. He moves to the closet -his closet!- and grabs a shirt. There's an overabundance of red, and not a single pair of jeans.

He tosses a shirt picked at random at the boy, and a pair of orange pyjama pants for good measure. Rory stands and shivers for a moment outside the duvet before slipping on the shirt. Then he drops his boxers and before Bobby has a chance to look away, he's already pulled on his pants.

"Thanks. And thanks for not being a prude."

"Bwah?" Bobby looks at Rory and he resettles beneath the still warm duvet.

"Oh, well, my last boyfriend had a thing about nudity. He refused to change in front of me. Which is weird, because if you can fuck someone naked, then really, you should be able to see them taking off clothes. I mean, I'm sure your boyfriend or girlfriend isn't weirded out by you changing after a good night, huh?"

Holy crap. This is fucked on so many levels that Bobby can't fully process it. He decides to go for the reply that's the least likely to involve more talking about boys fucking. "My girlfriend and I actually don't have nights like that. She's a mutant too, if people touch her bare skin they get hurt."

"Oh man, that's too bad. Touch is always the best of the five senses." Rory looks at Bobby and in what seems to him a complete non sequitur says, "do you want to share my blanket?"

"Uh, no. Not really that cold."

"I'm always cold. I don't think I have very good circulation. Maybe it's a mutant thing. Do you think it might be? All the blood that's supposed to be travelling our body is stuck in our brains, so we can be the evolved super-intelligent powered people?"

"I don't know. I know I don't actually get cold, cold is my normal temperature. I can do things with ice." If it wasn't before, now it's a point of pride. Within the time after the President's speech, many of the mutants have drawn away from humanity, becoming more proud of their abilities. Sort of like the gay kid in high school that becomes a total flamer because it's either hate yourself or exaggerate yourself.

Not that Bobby wants to think about flamers. He can get along with Rory, as long as he doesn't have to think about the things he does.

"Oh! Creepy." It isn't a reaction Bobby has ever gotten before, and for about the tenth time being in this room, he's confused. What kind of a mutant thinks other mutants powers are creepy? Especially his! His abilities are cool, pun not intended.

"What? Working ice isn't creepy."

"Yes it is. I don't like it. It's creepy." The blond seems obstinate in his opinion. If Bobby can't change his mind, he has to at least know why.

"It's not deadly, or anything. Like my girlfriend, she could kill you if she had her hand on your shoulder too long. What's wrong with ice?"

"I don't like ice. I can do fire. Fire doesn't like ice. It doesn't mean you're a bad person, just means I don't like what you do. So, as long as I don't see or have to think about it, we're good. Okay? Now, how do we arrange going to classes? Storm said yesterday-"

Bobby drifts out of the conversation, thinking that it must be someone's idea of a joke that what he thinks about the guy is exactly what the guy thinks about him. Except his powers are normal, and Rory's homosexuality isn't.

*

It's Friday evening, and Rory's been here five days now. Storm's left again, and Cyclops has returned with a girl about nine calling herself Parrot, who can mimic the voice of someone exactly. Bobby doesn't worry about helping integrate her. There are dozens of teens and temporary adult visitors that want to take care of her, she's got the 'adorable' vibe going on.

What he's focused on is not losing his mind. He can't stop thinking about the idea that his power is offensive to those with fire power. He has no idea if John's always felt the same, and just hasn't said something. On one hand, John is blunt, and he would have said something by now. On the other hand, John is also known for taking route best for him in awkward situations. Knowing that he'd have to continue sharing a room with a man of ice, would he really comment that ice powers are creepy? Probably not.

He has to stop thinking about whether or not John's been hiding the truth from him for three years. He's going to go completely batshit insane if the same question just circles in his head over and over again. There are two ways to solve this. He can ask, or he can distract himself on a regular basis, so the question doesn't have time to exist in his head. The second option would be easier if there was actually something to do.

Determined to know the truth, he gets off the computer and stalks out of the room. Piotr's looking at him like he's doing something wrong, but he can't let himself get distracted. Courage only lasts for short bursts, so time is of the essence. If he stops to talk to Piotr, he'll come up with a reason not to track down John.

There are three likely places for John to be. He might be in his room, he might be playing cards in the nightly dining hall tournaments, or he might be playing video games. Since his bedroom is down the hall, it's where Bobby checks first. It's weird to see Rory's plaid duvet, rather than his navy blue one. It's weird to see a mix of Rory's and John's dirty clothes on the floor, instead of John's and his. Bobby isn't sure if he'll ever get over the fact that Rory has usurped his bedroom. He has to admit though, it makes sense. Rory can create fires but can't control them, and John can control fire. At least until Rory is able to control when he creates them, John needs to be around to stop them.

The dining hall is next on the list geographically. Glancing at the three tables with various groups of people he sees that John isn't there. This leaves video games as the last likely choice. If that fails, Bobby's going to have to walk through the entire mansion, and the grounds as well. He's not looking forward to that. At the same time, staying awake another night with Sam's snoring in the background, thinking about 'does John secretly hate me' is even more an abysmal future.

He's about to leave when he hears Jubilee say, "Well, I think they're perfect together." Hearing that, Bobby makes his way to the table that she and five others are sitting at playing Texas Hold-em. He's not ashamed to admit he's a gossip. Knowing things about people is the spice of life. And there is always the fact that the more you know about people, the more you can help them.

"Who's perfect together?" he asks, sliding onto the bench. They're probably not going to deal him in, he's joined too late. Poker starts at 7pm sharp, and if you're not there, you're not playing.

"Duh," Jubilee responds, looking up from her cards to roll her eyes.

"No, seriously. Who's hooked up?" It wouldn't be fair to say Bobby's always the last one to know. On the contrary, he's generally one of the first. It only seems like he doesn't get to know anything, because there's at least one person that knows first. Some day he'll be the first to know something, and it will be glorious to dole out that information.

"Sam here thinks that when people are too alike, they won't last. Like if Xavier and Dr. Grey had hooked up back in the day." Bobby, having known them both more intimately than practically anyone else in the school, shudders at the idea. The other card players don't seem to appreciate the visual either, Remy going as far as to punch Jubilee in the shoulder. She continues to build up the anticipation of knowledge, ignoring everyone else.

"I however, think that people can be happy, even if they are nearly identical. But they aren't, so I don't think they'll be a problem."

"Who, Jubilee?" It's a sign of something very bad when the game stalls, looking away from their cards, choosing instead to look at Bobby. He's nervous now. Maybe Rogue is cheating on him?

"Rory and John are a couple. They're so cute. Rory's like twice his size, he can fit John on his lap. Unlike Sam, I have faith."

It's like the entire universe has moved three inches to the left. It's like someone's slipped him a very small dosage of mushrooms. Nothing, absolutely nothing makes sense anymore. How could John have never told him? They've never talked about sex, which apparently is very rare in roommates. He's been with Piotr and Sam for five days now, and nearly every hour something sexual comes up. Those two can spend half the night just playing 'who'd you do first...'. John and Bobby have never talked about sex, and now Bobby understands why. It's because John likes guys.

John likes guys.

John likes guys. Men. The XY's of the universe.

He's not going to ask Jubilee if she's sure, because he knows she is. Unlike some of the lower gossips, she only passes on what she personally knows to be true. Which is a highly disturbing thought, because it means she has some sort of proof that John likes guys.

John likes guys.

Not only does John like guys, John has never said a word about it. Didn't even hint at finding girls boring. Not a fucking smidgen of a hint. Knowing in the back of his head that it's a bad idea, he stands and storms off. He knows the reaction will provoke comments from the six. But he can't just sit there and have them stare at him as he tries to process this.

John likes guys. This is insane.

*

Bobby hasn't slept in thirty hours, and it's beginning to show.

There are two sorts of sleep deprivation. Most people don't distinguish the two, having not had the opportunity to experience both semi-frequently. Bobby has, being both friends with John, and boyfriend to Rogue. Both are chronic insomniacs, and thus he's become acquainted with the phrases 'we'll sleep when we're dead' and 'sleep is for those who don't know what coffee is'.

The first sort of sleep deprivation is by far the more fun version. It's a "I could choose to go to sleep, by why would I want to when there are a million better things to do?" kind of deprivation. Second and third and higher numbered winds are propelled by "Wow, I just got the best idea ever!" and the fulfillment of the idea. It involves hysterical laughter and the occasional yawn followed by adamant "I'm not tired!" statements.

The second sort of sleep deprivation is generally lame. It's a "I have so much to think about/so much to do, I don't have time to rest" kind of deprivation. Second winds are brought forth by sheer panic, and remembering that this assignment has a Part D as well, or circling thoughts. Category two of sleep deprivation tends to cause irritability, hostility, and worry.

Bobby doesn't do well with category two. Bobby does not handle stress well. He's generally the most loopy after Rogue and Pyro cause another night up, and those nights are always the idea nights. The lack of sleep combined with the stress is not making for a good attitude.

It was bad enough that he had to go to outside and wait for it to be night. He couldn't go to any of the common relaxing areas, in case John was there. He couldn't go back to his room, Piotr would worm the reason for his discomfort out of him. And he sure as hell couldn't go back to the dining hall, where Jubilee would be waiting for him. He wasn't cold, but he hadn't had a flashlight, so making his way inside wasn't the most trivial task. And of course, because life was like that, when he got back to his room Sam went silent. Meaning, Piotr and Sam had been talking about him, and his reaction to the news. Which meant everyone probably had all the wrong ideas.

He had had to stay awake until they had both fallen asleep. Only then was it safe to log on to the computer and pull up Google. Google was not helpful, and he had retired to his bed after only fifteen minutes.

But God knows, beds don't necessarily equal sleeping. From two am until seven, he lies there thinking. Thinking is not his friend. Finally, he's had enough. He has to get up and do something, if he thinks anymore he's going to have a fucking meltdown. Fighting in the danger room doesn't help, nor does pacing down the wooden panelled hallways.

Walking past the dining hall gives him an idea. He enters the dark kitchen, prepared to wait as long as he has to. As it turns out, he doesn't have to wait at all. Jean Paul is already in the room, working only by the light coming through the window. He's cutting fruit, honeydew and cantaloupe and bananas, and arranging them on plates. Fruit platters generally come with smoothies, and he nearly salivates in anticipation of breakfast. What Jean's creating is almost a piece of art, not that any of the hungry students will compliment him. Bobby won't either, even though he has noticed. It seems stupid, to tell someone their design of cubes of cantaloupe is beautiful.

"Hi Bobby." Jean Paul will insisted that he doesn't have an accent. Every person in the mansion insists they don't have an accent, their speech is normal. Even Bobby had found himself at one point exclaiming to Remy that no, he did not have an accent, that it was actually Remy who spoke oddly. Remy had been stanchly opposed to the idea. Jean Paul is from Montreal, and you can hear it in his voice, even though he speaks grammatically perfect English.

Eschewing a hello, he starts right in on what's kept him up all night. "See, the thing with Google is that anyone can say anything. Right?"

"Uh, not sure where you're going with this, but yeah. Google's not really monitored for quality control." He begins to slice strawberries.

"So, when you need information sometimes Google doesn't help. Because sometimes it's wrong. So when you really need to know something, it's probably best to ask someone, right? That knows about things?" He's rambling, but he can't help it. He's tired, and nervous as hell.

"Yeah. Or read about whatever it is in a book."

"Except for sometimes, some things are like more personal things, and reading clinical books doesn't work as well. So, really, you want to ask people."

Jean Paul puts down the knife and turns to Bobby. "What's up, man? I mean, it's obviously something. You're exhaling cold air, I can see your breath."

Yeah, well, you try to control your power when every thought in your brain is worried, and every muscle in your body is tense. "Yeah, um..." it seemed like a great idea even five minutes ago, but now Bobby's not sure if he can ask.

"Look, would you rather me not look at you? Continue slicing the fruit for smoothies, and you can just talk to my back?"

It's weird how much relief that idea sends through his body. Jean Paul has no telepathic ability, otherwise Bobby would be accusing him of reading his mind without just cause. "That would be... good."

There are cartons of strawberries to occupy Jean Paul's attention, and Bobby didn't really realise until now how much food is needed for cooking for so many people. The weekends have to be even harder, as those meals have to be things that can be spread out. Weekday meals are at 8, 12, and 6, but weekends are more buffet style. Food that can be good for any amount of hours must be difficult to provide for so many people. He wants to thank Jean Paul and the rest for doing it, but thinks that saying so now would mess up his rhythm. He'll thank the man after he gets the burden of questions off his chest.

"So, uh." Dear God, this is the most awkward conversation he's ever had. Including the one with his mom and dad and Ronny, and John and Logan with their smart-ass comments. Well, he might as well start off with an easier one, and work his way up. "Do gay people drink beer?"

"Excuse me?" Jean Paul is floored, Bobby can hear it in his voice. But he's kept his promise of not looking at Bobby while Bobby asks his questions, and that's a relief.

"Well, Google told me gay people don't drink beer. I don't really understand why. I was wondering if it was true, and if it is, why not."

"Some do, some don't. Does every single heterosexual person drink beer?"

"Uh, no?"

"Well, neither does every gay person drink wine coolers."

"Do gays always say girlfriend or sister?"

"Bobby, have you ever heard me say girlfriend or sister? When not actually referring to someone's sister or girlfriend, I mean."

"Uh, no? Do gay people hate the rain?" Clearly it's not a good question, as Jean Paul bursts into laughter, resting his head against the cupboards.

"Where are you getting this shit?" he's still looking at the food, and he's still laughing. "Right. Google. Bobby, do me a favour, and don't go on Google anymore. Okay?"

"Okay. But can I still ask you a few things? Will you guys make me go to a gay bar?"

Jean Paul's put down his knife again, and this time when he answers he sounds a bit irritated. "Bobby, do you ever remember conversations in English class about free will? Gay people will not make you go to a gay bar. Straight people will not make you go to a straight bar. You will or won't go to any club you choose to go or not go to. Going to a club is not something that you can be forced to do."

Bobby's got a million more questions, but he wants to leave the kitchen before anyone comes by. He doesn't want to talk to anyone until he has more time to think. The most important question he has is also the most awkward to ask. "Will he hit on me?"

At this, Jean Paul does turn around. "I honestly have no idea who you're talking about. But look, did he tell you he was gay?"

"No. But I know he is."

"So if he hasn't told you he's gay, then it follows that he hasn't told you he wants to get you in bed? Hasn't told you he wants to fuck you?" Bobby can't say anything, but his beet red blush is enough to make Jean Paul continue. "You know how you're straight, but you don't want to have sex with every female in the human population? Well, a gay person doesn't want to have sex with every male in the population. He might very well find you attractive, but he's not going to attack you. Just like straight guys aren't going to try to lay every single girl, whoever this is isn't going to molest you."

"Right." He's about to leave the kitchen when he remembers. "I know that no one really says anything, but it's cool of you guys to make the meals. Everything is always good. Great, really."

"Thanks. I'd say I'll pass the compliments to the chef, but that's me, really." Jean Paul turns back to the cutting board and his mountain of strawberries, and Bobby leaves. He has to think, and he has to sleep.

*

It occurs to Bobby as his fist comes down on the door that he hasn't talked to John since Friday. It's only a day and a half, but it seems much longer. And really, for a group of people all stuck inside the same school, it actually is a fairly long time. The knob turns and Rory's there, smiling a bit.

"Hey Bobby," he says, and walks back to the bed. Like the last time Bobby was in this room, Rory crawls back underneath his blanket. This time is different though. This time John is underneath the blanket too, and from the general outline the blanket on their forms gives, it looks like they're cuddling.

It's not nearly as disgusting as Bobby would have thought. In fact, between yesterday's talk with Jean Paul and this study of caring, Bobby's willing to believe being gay can almost be normal. But even if he thinks it is, it doesn't change the fact that other people won't share the attitude. That's why he has to Talk to John. He has to talk to him before things get Out Of Hand.

"Rory, man. I sorta have to talk to John. You mind?" 'Leave now' is implied, and Rory's smart enough to hear it.

"No problem man. Be gentle with the boyfriend though, okay?" 'He's mine not yours' is also implied, and Bobby feels an odd jolt of rage when he hears it.

When Rory leaves, he closes the door behind him. Bobby's grateful for that, having to do it himself would make things look even more dramatic then they are. Bobby really doesn't want to make a scene, he just wants to talk to John. Remind him of a few things.

"What's up?" John's shoving the blankets off, and Bobby tries not to look as John adjusts himself. Rory and John had clearly been occupied before he came in the room.

"Well, you're gay." Bobby thinks that it's a full answer to John's question. John doesn't.

"Yeah. What with the snuggling with guys thing. Your point?"

"Ignoring the part for now where I've been your best friend for three years and you haven't told me, have you thought about the consequences?"

John grabs his lighter from the dresser. It's an odd thing to see, the metal rectangle not on his body. It's never before not been somewhere on his person. It only took one comment about security blankets followed by a week of John not talking to him for Bobby to never comment again. But just because it's not mentioned doesn't mean that it's not always there, like an extra finger. Bobby guesses that when you have a boyfriend that can create your fire, you don't need a lighter to make it.

"Consequences of what, exactly?"

"Of your being queer." Again, Bobby thinks it's a full answer, but John doesn't. In fact, John seems pretty irritated, judging by how quickly he's flicking the top of the Zippo.

"You're not serious, Iceman."

"There's just a lot of people that don't like that kind of thing. You're my... I just don't want to see something bad happen."

It's an answer that seems to placate John. At the very least he doesn't seem angry anymore. Maybe haunted is the word, his eyes look dark and unhappy. "Bobs, life comes with bad things. A lot of them. If some of it revolves around the people I have sex with, then that's what happens."

Bobby can't accept that. John has to see that some people are going to be horrible about it. If he has to show him, then that's the price he'll pay to keep John safe in the long run. "Look. I just think it would be in everyone's best interest if you stopped being a faggot."

"Ex- _cuse me_?"

"I said, I think everyone would be happier if you weren't a faggot." The word feels gross on his tongue, he can nearly taste the ugliness crawling on his taste buds. He has to say it. John has to expect that, and worse, if he wants to stay gay.

"Fuck. You. Bobby." John's words are jagged sharp, but Bobby isn't sure if he's gotten the point yet.

"Maybe you want to, but I don't. I'm normal, I fuck girls. You're the aberration."

John takes a few steps forward, close enough that Bobby can see his clenched fingers are turning white against the Zippo. "I'm telling you now, and I'll only warn you once. Get the FUCK out of my room, Bobby."

Bobby remembers when it used to be their room. He turns on his heel and exits.

*

When Jubilee comes to ask him if he really is homophobic, Bobby knows it's gotten around the entire school. Jubilee is the only one concerned about verifying the sources, the rest are just settled with rumours. He explains he's not homophobic, just concerned that John doesn't know the consequences of being gay. Jubilee calls him a stupid prick and walks away.

Rogue seems pretty neutral to the accusations that her boyfriend is a jerk. She neither vouches for or against him, only asks him to play foosball with her. It's a bit difficult playing with only two players, but no one wants to be around Bobby, and by extension Rogue.

He honestly doesn't understand the drama. He hasn't been to a normal high school, but he has spent summers with the guys around his suburb. Everything he said to John two nights ago, they would have said. And worse. Much worse. Stuff about cocksuckers and pussy boys. Some wouldn't have stopped at talking; they would have expressed their rage about queers physically. From the reaction of everyone else at the school, everyone here is pro-gay. That's fine, Bobby isn't anti-gay. He just needs to make sure John knows that the things that are okay at the mansion are not okay outside of it. And wouldn't it be easier to just not go there? Not start something that wasn't safe to finish?

A voice that sounds nearly identical to his mother's whispers 'have you tried... not being gay?', and he tells it to go away. It's a completely different circumstance.

He's really lonely though. John hasn't spoken a word to him in two days. Hasn't even looked in his direction. Bobby wants to apologise, but there are two problems. He knows he hasn't done anything wrong, and he knows that John doesn't accept apologies. From John's viewpoint, if you're going to feel guilty about something, you don't do it. Otherwise, you don't get to whine about your feelings afterwards.

Still, there's got to be a way to get around this. To explain to John that he's not homophobic, just concerned. That they can still be friends. That Bobby needs him as a friend. Ultimately, John's the most important thing to him. Family has been replaced by friends, he should have known that the day he came to the school to escape home. Instead he had been in denial, up to the moment the police arrived. Now he knows better, knows if you don't have friends you don't have anything.

Bobby needs John, and before his brain can really register what he's doing he's walking away from the foosball table. Rouge calls his name but he doesn't respond. His feet take him down the halls to the dorm rooms. It takes all his nerve to open the door of his old room. It takes more nerve than that to not scream at the sight in front of him. Bobby's officially used all his nerve today, and the part of his brain that stays occupied by cackling at his failures tells him he's screwed if there's another attack on the school. He'll just fall apart, he has nothing left.

There are clothes all over the floor, but it's the two pairs of pants and two shirts and one pair of underwear nearest John's bed that he's looking at. Those five articles are there because they aren't on John and Rory. Rory is actually still wearing a pair of socks, but John's always hated confining his feet, and hardly ever wears socks.

They're on the bed, and for once Rory isn't wrapped up in his damn duvet. There are no blankets, and the pillows have been tossed off too. The fitted sheet is crumpled in Rory's grasp, the headboard making the occasional noise against the wall. All in all, it seems like obscene treatment of a bed.

John looks beautiful naked, and once the cackling brain laughs at that comment, he nearly faints. Bobby isn't the type of person to think other boys look beautiful. That's Jean Paul's job. That's John and Rory's job. His job is to appreciate breasts and vagina.

John's spine is visible, round bone every few inches down his back. He's so skinny, and he's got no ass, but he's sexy anyway. God, why isn't he backing away, closing the door silently? This isn't the kind of thing Bobby needs to see. He's not a voyeur. John is thrusting hard, body curved over Rory's. Rory is on all fours, and they're both making quiet grunts that shouldn't sound hot but do. Really, he should leave now. He can't stop staring, he can't help but wonder what it would be like to fuck someone, what it would be like to have someone dominate him. The thoughts are terrifying, but they're real. He knows if he got close enough, he could smell the sweat dripping off their bodies. This isn't sweet or romantic, this is sex. And this is powerful, in a way mutant powers can't be.

Only when Rory moans does Bobby's brain rattle enough to remind him that he really shouldn't be watching this. With a reluctance that will take another sleepless night to analyze, he shuts the door as slowly and unobtrusively as he can. No one ever needs to know he witnessed this, or that it wasn't horrible.

*

Sam and Poitr aren't talking to him, they just look up briefly then go back to their comic books when he walks in their bedroom. Normally the silent treatment would upset him. After two days of not a soul speaking to him, it was a major contributing factor in tracking down John. The most important part by far had been to make things right with him. The secondary purpose though, was once he was okay with John, everyone would realise he's not homophobic. Once that apparent stigma was off his shoulders, everyone would be his friends again. After giving up his family, it's really uncomfortable to have his friends hating him.

Right now though, Bobby doesn't care. He's actually a bit glad everyone is shunning him. If he had friends, he would be having conversations. He doesn't want to have to talk. All he wants to do is lie down and think, and try to figure out the convoluted mess that is his life.

He looks over at the boys in the alcove of the room, before changing into boxers and an old worn shirt. It's a little before nine, but neither comments when he climbs into bed. He pulls the duvet over his face and sighs. The fabric slowly settles across his face, cool and fuzzy to the touch. It'll heat with his breath, and become more and more claustrophobic, a feeling Bobby hates. Still, it's the only way to both block out the light of the rest of the room, and feel like he's got some sort of privacy. He needs privacy, even faked, if he's going to be able to analyze his life.

CSI is one of those rare tv shows that nearly everyone in the mansion likes. Sure the spin-offs are liked and disliked by different people, and there are far more reruns on tv than there are new episodes. But the original is a good show, and it has taught Bobby something that he's able to use to analyze his life. Things break down into evidence, and ideas that form based off those pieces of evidence. All he has to do is separate the idea from the proof, and he will understand life.

Exhibit A: he spent at least five minutes watching two boys have sex.

The idea that forms is that he's gay. But that's not necessarily true, it could just be curiosity. Like watching Discovery Channel to see how lions mount each other, or how they take down an antelope. It doesn't mean he's going to chase and devour a poor antelope, just that it's another thing to know about how life works.

Exhibit B: he had spent substantially more time watching John then Rory.

The idea there is that he likes John more then Rory. There is no other option.

Exhibit C: he wasn't actually hard from watching them have sex.

The idea forms that he's not gay, just entranced by everything John does. John eats breakfast, Bobby watches him pour the maple syrup. John teaches English, Bobby attends every class. John plays with fire, Bobby watches him flick his lighter open and draw shapes in the air. John fucks, so now Bobby watches that.

Exhibit D: John and Rory had enjoyed, and were probably currently still enjoying having sex.

That idea is John must be good at having sex. Again, there's no counter idea.

Exhibit E: he remembers thinking having sex with a boy might be interesting.

The first thought is he's clearly and definitely gay. However, looking at evidence E and C at the same time leads to a better explanation. He doesn't want to have sex with just any male. He doesn't even really want to have sex with John, though evidence D is a good indicator that it might be fun. What Bobby really wants is to entrance John back. If sex is how Bobby can catch him, that's how it's going to have to go down. Even if he has to go down.

Ultimately, what all the evidence points to is that Bobby wants John to be his. And really, it's not surprising news. His subconscious, otherwise known as the voice inside his head that likes to laugh at him, informs him that he's known it all along. It's a statement which he refuses to believe, his denial causing the voice to cackle again.

He refocuses himself. The question is not who he was in the past, but how to sculpt himself so that he can get what he wants in the future. Hot down blanket smothering his face, he starts to plan.

*

Bobby's actually never broken up with someone before. When he left home, he hadn't remembered to tell Alexis Hurst he was leaving. Only when he came back for a visit a year later- the earliest everyone thought he had enough control to go home- and she stopped at his house specifically to yell at him for leaving, did he remember that she had considered them dating. To Bobby, it had only been a kiss and a few acts of kindness.

This time he has no such luck. He can't fall back on the excuse that they're not girlfriend and boyfriend, every student here knows how long they've been dating. He can't blow her off and run away, he has to live at this school. He has to deal with her, has to figure out a way of telling Rogue without her getting too pissed off and trying to kill him.

He also has to talk to John and get them together as friends. The plan is to eventually steal Rory's boyfriend, just like Rory stole his room. But he'll never get the chance if John isn't talking to him at all. That humongous obstacle has to be hurdled first and foremost.

As if that isn't enough, he also has to get everyone to realise he's not a jerk. Some of the people here he's known for over three years, and even they aren't speaking to him. No one showed up to his tutoring on the history of woman's liberation, even though he's the only one who wrote the Suffrage Movement optional essay for extra credit in history class. The shunning has been complete, and he's getting really fucking sick of it.

The last person with such a list of impossible tasks was Hercules. Comparing the lists, Bobby thinks he'd rather hunt down and capture a stag with golden horns or muck out thirty years of crap from a horse stall over trying his duties.

The list doesn't have a good start. After waiting thirty minutes for his group to not show up for their history lesson, he goes to the fireboys' room. John isn't teaching until ten, he should still be in there preparing. Bobby knocks this time, he's learned his lesson. John opens the door, and he steps forward to enter the room. Upon seeing Bobby, he slams it closed.

"I told you before, get the fuck out of my room!" he shouts through the door. Bobby continues knocking on the door. He's played this kind of waiting game with John before, Bobby always wins. Eventually John will answer, even if Bobby does get his arm hair singed for his trouble. "Seriously Bobby, fuck off!"

He ignores the shout, and still knocks. When the knob twists again he smiles in triumph, only to be let down. It's Rory, this time in an orange shirt and red twill pants. Now that Bobby knows his power, he wants to laugh at the sheer cliché of his clothing. The boy is calm. Storm's idea of him needing John's help isn't proving very true.

"Bobby, go away, would you? Pyro's pretty pissed off. Personally I understand, you're one of the 'if I don't see it it doesn't bother me' kind of people. That's cool. The world takes all kinds. But Pyro's really not happy, so maybe if you gave him a few days to cool off?" Rory looks funny for a second, sort of disturbed at the idea of a fireboy cooling down. "So yeah, see you later, alright?" For the second time in as many minutes, the door closes in his face. This time it's gentle, not a reverberating slam. Still, the message is clear; you're not wanted.

He's irritated as he's walking the hall. He obviously can't go to English class, which means he has to figure out fucking Edipiss Rex by himself. He doesn't even know how to spell the guy's name. Piotr passes him, and instead of a nod or a general comment, he says nothing. Bobby's getting really fucking sick of being the leper, so he turns around and rushes the few steps so he can be in front of Piotr.

"I tried to talk to him. I just tried. And he won't. So tell everyone to stop being assholes about it. Okay?"

"John wouldn't talk to you?" Colossus asks, and he looks like he's wondering if Bobby's telling the truth.

"Do you think he would? You've known him how long, is he the kind of person to accept apologies?"

"You were trying to apologise to John?"

"Yes. For fucksakes, yes. And what I don't need is everyone on my case. Not now, not when..." he gestures, can't think of a way to phrase how hard it is for the ones that know what it's like to have loving teachers to not have those guardians anymore.

Piotr nods, and offers a small consolation "I'll tell people. It's their choice, whatever they do."

"It's always peoples choice, for whatever anyone does." A nice lesson from Xavier, refreshed in his mind in the form of Jean Paul. Piotr nods again and continues on his way. Bobby checks off one of his three tasks on his mental list. It doesn't provide any relief; the other tasks will be just as impossible.

Rogue is undoubtedly taking John's morning class, but he swings by the classroom to make sure. She sits in a corner desk with her copy of the Greek story. John's not there yet, but he doesn't want to be in the hallway when he comes. If Bobby's there, the drama will escalate. As much as he wants to Rory to go back to where ever he came from, Bobby knows that he's right. John needs a bit of time to cool down.

For lack of something else to do, he migrates to the kitchen and watches Douglas make enough chicken breasts to feed the mansion. They don't say anything, but there isn't a tension in the silence. Maybe Jean Paul has told him to leave Bobby The Nutcase alone, warned all the amateur chefs to watch out for Bobby when he comes into the kitchen. Douglas just uses the meat sheers to slice off pieces of fat, and ignores Bobby.

He isn't aware of how long he's been sitting there until Kurt walks into the room and Bamphs away, a tray in each hand. If lunch is ready, then everyone will be in the dining hall. Which means he no longer has an excuse to not talk to Rogue. Wonderful.

He grabs a huge bowl of salad, figuring it's one less trip for Kurt, as he walks out the door. Douglas follows him with more trays of chicken, these covered in some sort of orange spice. Bobby doesn't like spice, and knows he won't try them. After walking the long distance that is the mansion, he puts the bowl down on the first table he comes to.

Rogue is sitting with some of the younger children, listening to them telling stories. She's always been good with children, Bobby hopes one day she can figure out a way of getting pregnant without touching anyone. He knows it has to be sad to love children so much, but warn them away from hugging or touching her.

"Can I talk to you?" he asks, and gestures away from the table she's sitting at. Really, he'd like to talk to her outside the entire dining hall, but he doesn't think that's going to be an option. Even if he asks, she'll just demand to know what's going on and not follow him. There's no point in bothering.

She looks at him a minute, before standing. She's a firm strong woman, and Bobby's going to miss having her. But this is more important. "I think we're done."

"Done what?" she asks, and Bobby rolls his eyes at himself. Now is not the time for mincing words.

"I think. I think we need to break up."

"What? Bobby why?" she's confused, and probably a bit angry.

"I don't think I'm what you need."

"Bobby Drake, I'll decide what I need and don't need."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not a chauvinist pig; I know you make your own choices. Except, I don't think you need a gay boyfriend." He watches as wheels turn in her head, and he doesn't know what pieces she's putting together, but the completed puzzle seems to make sense to her. He knows she's got it wrong, whatever she's thinking. But that doesn't matter, what matters is that lying to her accomplishes his goal.

"Oh, Bobby." Making sure her hair is wrapped around her neck, she hugs him and for a second rests her head on his shoulder. He feels happy that she doesn't hate him, and guilty that she still loves him. But she's not the only important person in his life, and he has to have him too.

*

Unfortunately, if he wants to talk to Jean Paul he needs to wake up early. The teen is busy cooking morning, noon, and night, and they both have classes. The Frenchman isn't even available at night, he likes to hang out with Kitty and Cypher. Kitty is what Bobby's suburb would have called a fag hag, he doesn't know what the label is when he's not allowed to say fag for risk of offending everyone again. She's one of the few not to forgive him for his homophobic remarks, so not only does he not get to have an English class, he's also far behind on computer literacy.

Last night, Bobby had taken it as a good sign when Alison asked him if he understood Dani's explanation of the algebra question. The question seemed to show that his quick speech to Piotr had been worth it. Letting people know he had tried to apologise seemed to make all the difference in fixing all of his relationships. With a feeling of security he hadn't had in days, he'd tried to sit with a group his age at dinner. Kitty glared at him for half the meal, and then stood. She tossed the fork back onto her plate, told Douglas and Jean Paul the food was great but the company was making her sick, and walked away.

The next step in the process of winning back John is complicated. It's crucial Bobby talk to Jean Paul, and he's not going to be able to if Kitty is around. Still, when his alarm goes off at seven am, his sleepy brain begs him to reconsider. Certainly he can talk to the teen later in the day, when the sun isn't shining so obscenely? He lets the alarm continue to beep, the shrill sound is helping to transfer him from woken-up to actually awake.

When Piotr on the next bed over throws a stuffed toy at him, he takes the hint. He hits the alarm until it turns off, and contemplates falling back asleep. It's a wonderful thought, but so is John being his. With a bleary yawn, he sits up.

Jean Paul isn't the only one in the kitchen; Paige is stirring pancake batter by hand in the corner. "Hey guys," he mutters, and waves. Paige nods to him and continues stirring. Jean Paul on the other hand steps towards him, bowl in hand.

"More questions like the other day?" His voice is an odd mixture of amused and wary.

"Not really. Sort of." A lot of this would have been easier if Rogue had told someone his fake secret. But she has kept silent out of loyalty to him, and now Bobby has to approach this from a different angle.

"You mind if we stay here? I'm working on breakfast." He glances at Paige, then back at Bobby. Six days ago, Bobby definitely would have minded. He hadn't even been able to have Jean Paul look at him. Today's circumstances are much different though, and the idea of others listening in to his troubles isn't worrying.

"No, it's fine. I can even help if you want."

"No, the five of us have a pretty good rhythm with each other. No offence Bobby, but you'd just get in the way."

Bobby's not offended by what Paige has said. On the contrary, it makes perfect sense to him. If people have a rhythm together, other people shouldn't get in the way of it. Especially not when they wear stupid clichéd clothes and steal private rooms. He takes a deep breath and dives into this headfirst. At least if there's no water in the hypothetical pool he'll die straight away, instead of suffering. "Jean Paul, I know you're gay."

"Yeah, and so does everyone else at the school. It's not exactly something I hide."

"I know, and I was just wondering, would you like to go out on a date?"

Paige gasps at the question and Jean's stopped stirring his batter. The plastic bowl is held to his chest in a death grip, and he just stares. Then his face subtlely turns to a slight frown, and he responds, "I don't take pity dates, Bobby."

"It's, it's not! It's a real date. A let's go have dinner that you don't have to make for people, and maybe see some sort of movie date. I dunno. I thought you might want-"

"You're not even gay." The four words are an accusation, like the worst thing he has ever done is not be gay.

"I think I am though. And you're nice and you're nice looking, and frankly, you're the only single gay person I know." It's mostly true, even if the motivation behind it isn't what Jean Paul is sure to think it is.

"Aw, Christ, Bobby." It's not a good reaction from Jean Paul, and Paige's is even worse.

"If you hurt him, I'll gut you. And fry your intestines for lunch. No one will notice, they love our food." It's a comfort to know that although Husk is working on only changing parts of her body to weapons, she hasn't mastered the ability yet. In a month, she may be able to gut him, but for now he's safe. At least safe mutantly, she can still attack him like a human would.

"Christ, Paige. Really not helping here." The Frenchman starts to work the batter again, but it's obvious he's stressed. His power is leaking out, he's stirring faster then any regular human could possibly stir. "Bobby, six days ago you didn't even know what gay was."

It's a bit of an exaggeration, but he has to admit not by much. "Things can change in six days." It's true, while avoiding the complicated parts of the truth. With a lack of anything better to do, he watches Jean Paul stir at super speed. The teen is clearly stressing out, and Bobby has no idea how to relieve him of that. He could take back the request, but that only adds an entirely different set of problems. Paige will be angry, Kitty will be furious for 'jerking the gay guy around', Jean Paul will feel rejected, and it doesn't accomplish his goal of getting closer to John.

While he's standing, trying to figure out how to fit his driven and plotting mind back into the Helpful Bobby body mold, Jean Paul makes up his mind. "We'll try the classic movie and dinner. Once. After that, both of us should be able to see things from a better place."

It sounds more like an ultimatum then a date, but Bobby'll take it.

*

He hasn't dated a normal person, but Bobby knows of the differences between mutant-mutant and mutant-normal. He's noticed there tends to be four major differences, as collected by listening to all the stories of all the students and adults. He expects to encounter them all Monday night, and isn't disappointed.

Difference one: dates tend to involve showing off powers.

Regardless of how good it is, Bobby only plays with his food. The spaghetti is wound on his fork, then unceremoniously dumped back into his plate, only to start winding more strands. There's no point in eating, not an hour before a second, fancier meal. He listens to Alison and Rogue talk for the fiftieth time about dyeing hair, and doesn't choose a side when they ask him what he thinks.

He knows most mutants here know, though he couldn't peg names and numbers. The student kitchen staff have to know, as do all of Jean Paul's friends. He's told Sam and Piotr, and telling Sam means he's told everyone who plays cards. Rogue knows and approves, she thinks dating within the community is a good start for Bobby.

Bobby has no idea if John and Rory know, but he assumes they do. Instead of completely ignoring him, they've sat half a dozen people down the bench, and are joining in conversation. Neither has spoken specifically to him, but that's to be expected. John's rage is quick to start, but is strong and long lasting. There's no doubt he'd still angry about the comments made over a week ago, he'll probably be angry for a fair time yet. It's just a matter of watching the depth and strength lessen, before he can approach without getting his head bitten off. In the past he might have risked it, but now Rory's there to strengthen John's resolve, and Bobby will win nothing by coming on too strong.

He's tapped on the shoulder and Bobby knows without looking it's Jean Paul. He slides out of the bench and with a swallow takes the hand Jean Paul is offering. He can feel all the eyes in the dining hall looking at him, walking hand in hand with a boy out of the room. For a minute he feels awkward enough to want to take back his hand. But to do that would jeprodise everything, so their fingers remain locked together.

Once they're on the grounds, Jean Paul steers their walk towards the stables. Bobby's never been one for riding, but lets Jean have control. They step into a stall, straw stuck in the treads of their shoes. Jean Paul reaches up on the tack wall and takes a heavy blanket meant for seperating the horse from the western saddle.

"Do you mind?" Bobby doesn't know what he's supposed to mind, and part of him screams that he probably should mind quite a bit. The first day John was in his room, he asked if Bobby minded. Bobby had said no, and for the next three years the zippo had clicked open and shut. This is a different situation though, and he thinks Jean Paul can be trusted. He shrugs and smiles.

Without further warning, Jean wraps the blanket around him and picks him up. Bobby's face is pressed into Jean Paul's chest, he's wearing a nice smelling cologne. One arm is pressing his back and chest to his stomach, and Jean Paul's other arm is lifting his legs at the knees. All in all it's a bride over the threshold position, and Bobby has no idea what the Frenchman is thinking.

Then Jean Paul starts running. He's going a good clip, and Bobby can feel breath through his hair when Jean angles his face and asks "Are you ready?"

It's hard to give consent when your face is pressed against someone's chest, so he nods as hard as he can and hopes Jean Paul can feel it. Northstar starts running, picking up the pace until Bobby feels like he's riding the Gravitron at a fair; pressed against a wall by gravity. The pace still quickens, and now he understands the heavy duty blanket. Northstar has durable skin, but if it wasn't for the blanket, Bobby would be in pain.

It seems like they're only moving for a few minutes before Northstar comes to a halt. He puts Bobby down, and unwraps the blanket. They're in an alley in the middle of the city, at least a fifteen minute drive. The alley is empty, so Jean Paul places the blanket against the wall, and half hides it with the lid of a trashcan. "Hopefully it'll be here when we get back. Your stomach okay?"

Bobby assesses his body's reaction to the super speed. He's feeling a bit nausous, like after riding a series of quick and volitile rides at a fair. But he and Ronny used to do that every summer, and he knows all he needs is a few minutes of calm and something to drink. "I'm good."

Difference two: dates tend to get looks, as many mutants have physical manifestations.

The first resturant they walk into elicits a bad feeling. The bar is seperated from the non smoking non drinking seating, and there are few people sitting in the small room. The bartender is wearing the resturant's uniform, and considering there's no one at the host's stand, Bobby thinks he's supposed to leave the bar for a moment and welcome them. That's what happened the few times he and his parents ate out. The bartender only looks at them, then starts adjusting the bottles so the name is facing the customers.

It takes several minutes for the host to come to the stand at the enterance, and she's accompanied by the manager. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Pardon me?" Bobby asks. What problem? The optimisitic part of his mind insists this isn't a big deal, the manager just got confused between them and a table with a complaint about how well cooked their meat was.

Jean Paul acts on what the pessimistic side is thinking. "There is no problem. We just want to sit and have a meal. So if you could escort us to a table, preferably a booth..."

The manager looks from Bobby to Jean Paul. His emotions clearly change as he takes in the pointed ears half hidden by shaggy black hair. "Sirs, I'm afraid there's no booths left. If you'd like to come back later, let's say nine?"

It's only six thirty now. Bobby knows what he's doing, he wants them to come back when most customers are gone, and there are few people around to realise this place serves mutants. It's bullshit, and Bobby's about to tell them to fuck off when Jean Paul speaks.

"That's alright. A booth is only a preference, we don't mind a table. What are your specials for the day?" He's managed to tell them to fuck off while maintaining a facade of pleasantry. Bobby's proud. It's the type of teaching Xavier would be proud of too. Being polite, while affirming that you won't take any crap.

However, Jean Paul isn't the only one with the ability to fake a happy attitude. "Sirs, I believe it would be best for everyone concerned if you came back around nine pm. Our second shipment of seafood will be ready at that time, we're currently running low."

"Actually, I was planning on having a nice pasta. So there's no need to be concerned about having enough seafood for us." Jean Paul is smiling, his oddly shaped eyebrows raised.

"I really must insist on recieving your patronage later tonight. It would be in your best interest, it's when we can serve you to the best of our ability." The look on the manager's face is subtle, you can only see his hatred if you know how to find it. Bobby's had several summers of upperclass adults masking their disgust for minorities at the country club, he knows sincerity and the lack there of.

Jean Paul's about to respond, but Bobby cuts in. He's just so sick of this crap. "And I really must insist that you take your overpriced menu and shove it up your bigoted ass. At least when you barred blacks in the fourties, you told them they were hated. Now you don't even have enough shreds of honesty to tell us we're lowerclass. Fuck you."

As he turns and walks out of the restarunt, he considers covering the resturant in a sheen of ice, ruining all the food. If they can't eat, why should anyone else? But doing that will only inspire more fear and hate, and Bobby is not a member of The Brotherhood. He can't ruin humans lives, just because they want to ruin his.

"You know, I probably could have gotten us a booth, in the end." Jean Paul swings his hand near Bobby's, and on reflex he picks it up. It's weird after two years, to hold a hand not covered in fabric or leather.

"Probably not. Or we would have gotten cold, spit on food. It's just better to not, sometimes."

"Yeah." It's cold outside, so Bobby offers Jean Paul his denim jacket. Jean Paul declines, instead staying in his buttoned black shirt, grey pinstripes matching the streaks of silver in his hair.

Difference three: dates tend to avoid talking about history. Many mutants have a host of things they won't or can't talk about. This rule goes double when you're not sure if they're X-men, Brotherhood, or Human affliated.

"Did you grow up around here?"

The question is out of nowhere, and it makes Bobby look up from his caramel and nut sundae. They've been talking about the ridiculous plot of the movie they've just finished watching, and other friendly harmless topics. Talking about home is niether friendly nor harmless, and he's stunned someone would ask that.

"No, not really. I'm from Boston." He uses his spoon to gather all the nuts from the vanilla icecream, not wanting to say the next part. If he says it, it's true in a way unadmitted things don't have to be. "Or, I guess I was from Boston. After fucking Stryker, I really don't think I'll be able to go back there. And I guess when you can't go back home, home isn't really a home anymore. So yeah, it's probably more accurate to say I'm from Westchester."

"I'd say that sounds like me too. Not because of Styker. But Westchester would be my home."

It wasn't intentional, but Jean Paul's question had put a burr under his skin, and Bobby wants to strike back. So he too grabs the taboo question and asks. "I thought you were from Quebec?"

"My biological parents are dead, my sister's gone, my adoptive family is dead. Unless I want to call CFS my family, I have none. And if home is where the family is, then Westchester's looking the best." Now Jean Paul is playing with his sundae too, stabbing at the banana with his spoon. Both are silent and melancholy. This is why the third rule of mutant dating isn't broken. Too many questions kills happiness.

Difference four: dates that end in hanky panky aren't shy. Like any smart couple asks about protection, so do mutants. They just have different definitions of protection.

The blanket hasn't moved in the hours they've been away. It possibly smells a little bit, but Bobby would rather smell alley than have his flesh ripped off by the wind. He's cradled in the same position as Jean Paul runs them home, feels the same light nausea when he's put down. The walk from the stables to Jean Paul's room is quiet, like the Canadian himself. He's definitely a different personality type than those that Bobby is used to hanging out with. Not different bad, the mellowness Jean Paul exudes is a welcome change from Rogue's talkative nature, or John's constant passion.

They stand there for a second before Bobby angles his head and arches his back so he's tall enough to kiss Jean Paul. He tastes slightly bitter, like the walnuts he'd sprinkled on his sundae. Bobby doesn't know where to put his arms, but before he has a chance to decide, the kiss ends. "Your control, are you okay for more?"

He thinks of what he knows of Northstar's abilities, and can't think of a way they could backfire. Not until they were fucking, superspeed fucking could hurt. But Bobby doesn't want to go that far on a first date, and besides, he doubts he'd be able to stop himself from coating the walls in ice.

Thoughts running through his mind, it takes him a second to register what Jean Paul has said. "Bobby, we're not going to do more. We're not going to do this again."

For the second time that night, he finds himself saying "Pardon me?"

"Look, it's obvious you're not interested. I don't know who you are interested in, though a lot of people have a few guesses. But it's not me. As much as I'd like it to be," he admits.

"I-"

"Maybe this was just a practice thing for you. How to Date a Queer. I hope it wasn't, because that hurts. Thinking that you used me, and couldn't even tell me that you were. But whoever you are interested in, don't use them. You're a weird kind of nice, Bobby Drake. You hurt people with your niceness. Just be careful, with whoever it is."

Jean Paul steps away from Bobby, and opens his door. He can see Douglas sitting on a computer chair, for the brief moment it takes Jean Paul to enter and close the door. He stands there for countless time, thinking. Thinking about how he'll never understand people, thinking about how the box of Helpful People he's stuck in is apparently mislabelled, thinking about how not dating Jean Paul is going to muck up his plan to be the Other Gay Couple and be able to get close to John again because though they might not share fire, they have everything else in common.

Thinking is something that Bobby's had to do more and more of lately. If it's a part of growing up, he doesn't like it.

*

The night of the date allows for a slight bit more sleep then the night of JOHN'S GAY!, but not by much. Piotr is curious but is content to continue reading after Bobby tells both his roommates to fuck off. Bobby would be grateful for small miracles, but any belief in god Piotr has caused, Sam has killed. Sam is not being a nice, pleasant roommate. Sam is a pain in the ass, nosy bastard.

"Did you guys make out?" Sam's got the bed against the wall, a bookshelf higher than the bed separating him from Piotr and Bobby. It's the best configuration of their room, to let Sam read into the night while keeping the room dark enough that the other two can sleep. What the floor plan doesn't plan for, however, is roommates that won't shut the fuck up. Piotr's the middle bed, and his pillow is over his head as Sam continues to shout across the room to Bobby.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Did you though?"

"Why would you want to know? You're straight!" He can't see Sam to see how he's taken the implied accusation, but doubts it's bothered him.

"Yeah, but curiosity has no gender. Besides, Jubes will kill me if I don't at least snag something. If the kitchen kids know before her, because Jean Paul talks to them, but you won't talk to us, she'll kill me. So just give it up already. Did you make out?"

"Yes. And then we had dirty kinky sex against the wall in the hallway because his roommates were in his room. He called me piggy and I called him bitch. I came ice, and ripped him apart, and he's in the medical office downstairs right now. Sam, fuck off."

"Well, fuck you too Bobby."

Bobby lies there waiting. He knows Sam isn't done. In training, Cannonball is always the last to stop, regardless of injury when his blast shield fails. Sure enough, ten minutes later he can hear the book slap down on the shelf. "If you don't tell me, then someone else will just ask you tomorrow. And there's a good chance they'll demand a lot more details then I will. You might as well just talk now."

"Sam, I'm not going to say anything before I have a chance to think about what it means."

"What do you mean, what it means? You're gay. Kissing a boy means you like boys. Duh." He can almost hear the eye roll.

"That's not it. Look, when I'm ready to tell the world what happened, I'll tell you. Okay?" He knows Sam won't see it as a very good consolation, but it's the best he can do.

"You better decide what you're thinking about before the morning. 'Cause Jubes will be on you like a bloodhound." The light rustle of pages turning resumes.

By the morning, Bobby's got only one idea left. Talking John out of being gay hasn't worked, being in a gay couple so they have something in common didn't even get a chance to be tested. There's only one more thing he can do to get John back to being his.

For the first time in a week, he attends John's English class. Bobby's far behind, and knows he'll have to collect notes from one of the other students. And he still hasn't begun the essay needed for passing Edipiss Rex. Or whatever it is. Both of those concerns float to the back of his mind though, when John hands him a tattered copy of Feed and starts reading a passage aloud. Bobby loves John's orating voice, he's missed it in the last days. He almost doesn't want things to go back to normal, doesn't want professor Xavier to take over.

He waits until after everyone leaves. It's more difficult then it sounds, Douglas is displeased with the book and stays behind to tell John how ridiculous the computers are in Feed. Watching John nod and allow Douglas the time to ramble is like watching Xavier teach Jean Grey control back in the day; it's just right.

Once the teen is gone, Bobby moves to the front of the classroom and holds out his book.

"It's actually the library's." The tone is odd, one Bobby's not sure if he's heard before. John doesn't sound angry, doesn't sound friendly, doesn't sound anything. His tone is dead, like he's talking to a stranger.

"You should be a teacher." Spending a bit of time with the kitchen kids has taught Bobby that everyone appreciates a compliment, that silent acknowledgement isn't always enough. "You're really good at all of this." He gestures to the room in general.

"Thanks." He takes the book from Bobby, and places it gently in his backpack. John looks at him, and something seems to break. As he speaks, he speaks with the passion Bobby is used to. "You know, it was really fucked up of you to try to tell me not to be gay."

"I know." It doesn't matter that he had the best of intentions, it fucked up enough that Bobby knows he was wrong. "I just didn't-" he can't finish, because it's an excuse. John doesn't react well to excuses.

"Didn't what?" Is this a test? Should he really answer John, knowing that the answer is only going to frustrate the pyromaniac? But the other option is to not say anything, and that's too much like rejecting this tentative conversation. Passion is better then silence, he'd rather get yelled at again than never spoken to in the future.

"I didn't want you to get hurt."

"Don't you think it hurt more to be told I shouldn't be what I am? Fuck, Bobby, you think you'd understand. You're with Jean Paul now." Bobby can hear the hurt in his voice, knows that John is imagining it was a secret kept forever, that Bobby's been fantasizing about Jean Paul for years, and has never said anything out of a lack of trust.

To the unsaid words, he responds, "It's not like that. And you should talk. You didn't tell me anything, you're with Rory now." The name is a curse word, Bobby hates the teen he hardly knows more than he hates anyone.

"I thought... I thought you'd react badly. And I was right, wasn't I? You freaked out, didn't you. I know you did, even if I didn't see it. But I just don't understand why. You're with guys too. Are you one of those self-hating fags? Because I'm not, Bobby. I'm mutant, I'm gay, I'm Australian. I don't hate anything about myself."

"John, I don't know if I even am gay. I just know that I want to be around you, and that when I think about you, I'm not grossed out. Does that count enough to make me gay?"

He runs his fingers through his pulled back fifties hair. Last year, as a joke, Bobby bought him brill cream and a pocket mirror to check his hair in. The pull of his fingers start to break the gel apart, John's hair is losing its pose. "I don't know if not being grossed out is enough to make you gay. I'm not the expert on gay happenings."

"Yeah, Jean Paul already got it through my head that not every gay person does the same things." He blushes as he remembers the questions he asked, and John laughs.

"I think I would have loved watching that conversation."

"I think you probably would have." Bobby grins and for a moment they're both just smiling at each other. Then John stops laughing, and Bobby's stomach waves.

"And the you want to be around me part. I'm not sure if that matters." His fingers are ripping the gelled locks apart, and Bobby's heart is twisted into a knot. "I'm not single, Bobby."

"But... we're..." His brain is screaming 'soulmates', but he can't finish his sentence. John seems to hear it anyway. And the ability of the other to understand unsaid things, doesn't that mean they are soulmates?

"I know, Bobs. But I'm not sure it matters. I can't break up with someone just because you're available. If I had come out while you were dating Rogue, would you have broken up with her?"

Bobby wants to scream. He wants to explain how that's a completely different situation, because Bobby wouldn't have known who he was back then. But he can't speak, can only listen as John's rational words rip his heart apart.

"Maybe if you had said something, but you didn't. I'm sorry Bobby." The zipper closing is the loudest thing in the room, before John slings the backpack on his shoulder and walks out of the classroom. Bobby's sure if he chases John, he'll see the teen crying. He doesn't want to see that, he can't deal with someone else's pain right now. Rory can fix John, that's his job.

Bobby has no one to fix him.

*

It feels like his soul is slowly being eaten by darkness. For the first time in nearly eighteen years, he understands the point of poetry. He can't speak to anyone about how shitty he feels, but writing is meant for those that choose to read it, he doesn't have to give it to anyone. Bobby doesn't have enough stamina to write a short story about an innocent boy sinking in despair, but he's good at metaphors and short lines.

Poetry is meant for people like him, who didn't realise they had a choice until after they made the wrong one. People who not only understand the phrase 'hindsight is 20-20', but wish every day that they could go back in time and give their old selves a fucking pair of glasses.

Every day he sits with John and Rory and Rogue and Piotr and eats his meals. Every evening he sits with John and Rory and Jubilee and Sam and the rest of the card kids and plays double-deck rummy. Every night he tries to sleep and dreams about sitting with only John. Nothing else, only sitting. But every morning he wakes up and there are Rogue and Piotr and perfectly cooked omelettes from the kitchen kids. Every morning he wakes up and sitting at his bench are John and Rory, and his dreams melt away.

Part of him wants to scream every time they're in the same room. Isn't it bad enough they share a room? Do they really have to spend every waking moment together? Their presence mocks him, and his pen writes lines of hate and anger.

A small part of him is happy that John is happy. Rory will ball his fist then thrust out index and middle finger. A flame appears, about to devour the furniture. Before it lands on anything, John throws his hands into the air and starts playing. Really playing, everyone can see the unedited delight on his face as he works the flame like play doh. Bobby can't give him fire, he can only freeze and break the flame. If someone else can, they deserve John.

The biggest part of him though, is the part with no feeling at all. He's not irrationally angry, he's not vicariously happy. Instead he just feels dead. It's just like the clichés say, when John left he took away a piece of him. His missing pieces don't hurt, they just don't exist anymore.

The three person couch has the best placement for watching television, though there are other places to sit in the room. Piotr grabs the left end and Rogue balances on his lap. It's literally a position of trust, Piotr has to trust that Rogue has her skin covered, Rogue has to trust that Piotr won't freak out and suddenly dump her onto the floor. John plops down on the right end and Rory is half sitting on the armrest, half leaning against John. The only place left for Bobby is the middle cushion, yet another cruel joke from the gods.

He spends half the movie composing poetry in his head. Nearly all start with negative phrasing- doomed, or hate, or mocked. Even the most positive of the bunch starts with 'Why?', and gets gloomier as it lengthens. Bobby will occasionally shake his head as if to banish the words, only to feel the heat John is emanating. His warmth brings everything into perspective, and the poetry begins again.

*

Rory's been at Xavier's Academy for Gifted Youngsters for twenty one days (not that Bobby is counting, or anything obsessive like that) when something goes to hell. It's early morning when the Academy equivalent of code blue goes off. Not all mutant powers have aggressive natures, and those that do can't always be detected. But those that can are semi-monitored, and an emergency system is set up to warn other students of a power going off. Unfortunately, it hadn't been set to register outside attack, or Stryker would have had a much harder time. Now it is, but now's too late.

It's a keening alarm, and every twenty seconds Jean Grey's voice states the room number. It wakes Bobby up out of a sound sleep, and the first thing he does is control his breathing so he's calm enough to create an icicle without icing the entire room. If anyone comes in, if it's a second attack, he'll stab them. He doesn't care if they have a family and kids, the people here are his family, and this time they will be protected.

His look at Sam and Piotr proves they're thinking along the same lines, Piotr's already metal. Sam is having more problems controlling his panicked energy, but he's doing his best to stop moving and keep his yellow smoke from erupting. Bobby has no doubts that in every room the mutants are gearing up. It takes until the third time Jean speaks to hear her say Room 216. That's his old room, which means John and Rory are in trouble.

The best strategy, whether it's out of control powers, or an outside attack, is to stay in your room. The teachers can handle it, or will specifically ask for someone that they know can neutralize the threat. There even are teachers here tonight; Hank, Scott and Storm are all home. But it's John, and Bobby isn't about to wait around when he's in trouble. Ignoring Sam and Piotr telling him that he should just stay, he stands. Bobby tries to storm out of the bedroom, but he's having trouble walking. His stress is causing his power to manifest; his feet are creating more ice by the second. Every step is slick, and it takes much longer than he'd like to walk out of the room.

By the time he gets all the way down the hall, it seems like he's missed the spectacle. It's only been three minutes, but if there had been anyone standing near, either to help or just watch, they're gone now. No teachers are around either. With nothing else to do, he moves his hand to the knob, then hisses in pain. It's nearly molten hot.

The entire point of meditation is to take time to calm oneself. Bobby has to be calm, but he doesn't have time. The best he can do is follow the breathing rhythm drilled into his skull four years ago, and hope that quality breathing can beat quantity of breaths. He holds up his hand and looks, pressing down his concern about John. And if he's honest, Rory too. Just because he hates the teen, doesn't mean he wants him dead. His hand forms a thick layer of ice. It's hard to curl his frozen fingers around the knob, but the ice protects his hand from the sizzling metal. The cloud of steam reveals how hot the doorknob had been heated to, and his stomach flips.

Opening the door, he steels himself for a horrorshow. Door open, he knows it's worse.

Everything is gone. John's side of the room had always been plastered with posters. Every time he bought a new one, it was taped on top of old ones, eclipsing half the design of the old. It had always driven Bobby crazy to have such an incomprehensible wallpaper of bands and tv shows and nudity. Now they're gone, the walls charred black. Everything is black. The carpet is burnt away, soot and the odd fluff covering scorched hardwood floor. Each piece of furniture is missing, reduced to ash. There are small bits of metal scattered where drawer handles didn't quite reach melting point.

The room is a landscape from hell. Back when nightmares caused frosted windows and scorched sheets, Bobby had thought he was used to seeing things he loved ruined. They had both gained a measure of control, but the memories of John's waterlogged books are just as clear as his melted DVDs. But this is different. All the memories held in this room are gone. Three years of history with John, all gone. It's devastating, in a way he's not sure he'll be able to explain to Sam and Piotr. He leaves 216, he can't stay in the room any longer without breaking down. The change of scenery doesn't help. Standing in the hall Bobby starts to cry anyway.

*

It's been hours, and no one knows where John and Rory are. Speculation runs wild through the masses, the most morbid saying they had a firefight and both died. Bobby refuses to believe it. The parts of him he thought were dead are screaming at the idea, it's all he can do to not stand in the dining hall and just scream until he runs out of air. It might not hurt people as much as Syrin would, but at least they would focus on him and stop talking.

He can't stand to listen to everyone talk. It's not just the card kids, everyone is talking about the loss of control in 216, and what it means. He wants to hit all the people that think the two did it on purpose, were showing off their powers and lost control. John has more control than anyone could ever understand. They only talked about it once, but from that late night Bobby knows going without fire hurts John. Actually makes him physically ill, and yet for the safety of everyone else, he holds himself back. He wants to spit on everyone who think it started as a lovers quarrel. It rips him apart to admit it, even only inside his head, but Rory and John are two pieces of the same puzzle. This wasn't a lovers quarrel, because they'll never fight each other. And he wants to shake all the new, little kids who ask if they're not here because Xavier kicked them out for messing up. He feels bad for being so angry at children, but their stupid, high pitched voices asking over and over again if the firestarters have been kicked out is grating on his nerves.

No one knows what started the fire holocaust of room 216. It could just as easily be either teen. Rory might have had a nightmare and shot flame on the curtains, John too tired to wake up until the room was already half devoured. Bobby doesn't buy that though. The others, they hadn't felt the heat emanating from the room. That kind of heat, everything in the room turned to ash, that doesn't come from a spark or two. That comes from full out warfare. On the other hand, John might have finally snapped from the pressure of being a teacher to eighty kids, and torched the room in rage. But that doesn't sound right either. As distracted as professor Xavier has been, Bobby has to believe he'd at least intervene before a student had a complete meltdown.

It only takes one person asking him his opinion before his friends decide that to be around Bobby isn't a good thing. By lunch, no one his age will sit near him. He's reduced to sitting at the kiddie table, picking at his sub. His world might be falling apart with literal flaming debris, but one thing is constant; the kitchen kids make good meals. Rogue is at the other end of the table, looking at him from behind the fall of white hair. Every time he looks back, she looks away and starts a conversation with one of the children. It's getting pretty irritating, but so is everything. Bobby knows he won't be happy, hell, won't be fit to be company with other human beings, until he knows they're both okay.

From down the table he hears Rogue gasp. He looks at her and for the first time in forty minutes, she doesn't look away. Her gaze catches his and she seems to scan him for a moment, before continuing her conversation with the seven year old with green and yellow hair. When the child gets up and walks the length of the table to him, he wonders what Rogue's plotting.

"You're Bobby?"

"Yeah. I heard you like to be called Parrot, right?"

"My dad called me that. Before he-" he can see her lip quivering, and knows that something fucked up must have happened. Seven years old, and she's already traumatized for life. At points like these, he can almost understand the Brotherhood hating humans. He reaches out a hand and puts it on her shoulder gently, aware that he's been icing everything he's touched for the last six hours. She doesn't seem to notice, only throws herself to him. He hugs her, thinking back to Ronny.

"Rogue told me that I should tell you something. 'Cept, I wasn't supposed to tell her neither. So I don't know if I should tell more people. Cause Mr Xavier told me that I shouldn't say the things that other people say sometimes, 'cause they're private."

"Well, usually professor Xavier is right. But sometimes there are really important things that have to be said to certain people. So what you have to do is really think. Think and think and think, and then if it makes sense that someone has to know what you've heard, then you can tell them." It's weird to be giving an ethics lecture to a new mutant. That used to be Jean Grey's job. Really, it's the arena of any telepath, not him. He doesn't have to worry about the ethics of ice.

She only looks at him, blinking. He lets her think for a minute, then adds "Do you think what you heard is important to tell me?"

"I don't know. They weren't talking about you."

"Okay. That's part of it. The other part is, do you trust other people when they tell you someone needs to know something? I'm sorry, that might be confusing. What I mean is, if Rogue tells you I need to know something, do you trust her when she says that?"

"Rogue's nice." The way the girl says it, niceness is akin to godliness. Bobby only nods. Even though the curiosity is killing him, he's not going to pressure a seven-year-old girl into showing off her power.

She stares off into the distance -at least Bobby is pretty sure it's the distance, and not the cake sitting on his end of the table- and starts speaking. It's a bit disturbing; she's got tone, pauses, and inflection dead on. She doesn't speak in male voices, Bobby's not sure if she can't, or if she just isn't using her ability to full extent. He doesn't really care, he just listens to what she's saying.

" 'what's that?'

'what?'

'I don't know what it is, but I know you're going to put it into your little grey safe. Except this time I'm not going to ignore that it's there. So tell me, what is it?... what the fuck? Rory, what the fuck?'

'what the hell is wrong with you! I need those!'

'Rory, calm down! Rory! Stop!'" She looks at him, and Bobby doesn't know what to say. What she's heard, it's only a hint of what happened. It's a tantalizing thread of conversation that actually tells him nothing. But before he has a chance to chew it over, he has to make sure the kid is okay.

"Thank you for telling me Parrot. It's good that you told someone you trusted, and I'm happy you trusted me enough to tell me."

"I don't trust you. I trust Rogue. John and Rory are next door. That was the last thing they said. Then there was yelling, and then that alarm went off. I couldn't tell Hank, even though the door was open. 'Cause Leith and Amanda told me not to. They said when the alarm goes off, you're supposed to stay in bed until someone comes." She stares at him for a second, and adds "I don't think you should tell other people. 'Cause then too many people would know, and I'm not supposed to tell anyone at all."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise."

She walks back to her lunch, where Rogue's cut the sub into more manageable pieces. He makes a note to thank Rogue later. Right now, he doesn't want to attract any more attention than necessary to any of them. The only thing that can come from someone noticing the interactions is Sam or Jubilee or Gambit asking more questions.

But what does their conversation mean? What did John find? The morsel of information is almost worse then knowing nothing at all.

*

He isn't surprised when Xavier asks him to come to the lower levels. The call rings loudly through his mind, like in these last months he's gotten out of the habit of sending messages, like he's forgotten how to be polite. Still, Bobby makes his excuse to the boy teaching him how to fill out income tax forms and goes to the elevator. He's expecting the small flash when Xavier wipes the elevator code from his mind, and doesn't let it bother him. Nor does the constant whispered left, left, straight directions that lead him to an individual room.

Bobby knows these rooms, as do many of the students. Rooms where after all the days of hiding, all the lessons of _control_ and _supress_ and _discipline_ and _be smart_ , all the techniques of 'don't attack until you can attack to kill', none of it mattered. When someone feels so stifled, there's nothing better then a room where every safety is set up to allow a person to roam free. Cover walls in sheets of 5 foot thick ice, but the walls won't shatter or become soggy when the ice starts melting. No ruined wallpaper that Bobby has to rip down and pretend he was just doing an improvised renovation, while his parents scream at him. The releasing rooms are heaven to some mutants, the only place to be safe.

He's directed to a room, and then he opens the door. Rory's inside. It's not the person Bobby's expecting to see, but he hides his shock. At the sound of the door opening, the blond looks up. His over-rounded face looks broken, like something cracked inside his soul.

"Is Pyro dead?" Three words, enough to shatter Bobby.

"I don't know. I don't think so. Someone would have said something."

Rory hasn't even finished listening to his entire sentence, after 'don't know' he's already tuned out. He's in the corner of the room, arms curled around his knees. It's a sweater and pyjama pants as usual, but these are blue. In the last twenty three days, never once has Rory worn anything but orange or yellow. It's like opening a can of Coke and tasting Pepsi.

Bobby thinks for a moment, and makes a split second decision he hopes he won't regret later. He sits beside Rory on the hard concrete and waits for the boy to look up again. Xavier wouldn't have sent him here if he wasn't needed.

"I wasn't," Bobby waits nearly five minutes before Rory figures out a way to continue. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. It's just so stupid, so fucking ridiculous like God is laughing at me and everything I do, you know? I don't want to do bad things so I put up protections, but then someone that doesn't underSTAND A GODDAMN THING" he's screaming now "DOESN'T LIKE MY PROTECTIONS, AND THEN EVERYONE GETS HURT!"

"Rory. I don't think anyone got hurt. Maybe John, but the fire stayed in your bedroom. No one else got hurt, except for maybe John. I don't know, I haven't seen him." It hurts to admit that there might be something wrong with John, but he doesn't see lying to Rory working very well.

"That's 'cause of him. Really, it's all because of him. He's so damn stupid, he doesn't understand that people do things for reasons, WHY DOESN'T HE UNDERSTAND PEOPLE HAVE REASONS?"

Bobby's not going to do anything as point blank as asking Rory what happened. Direct is a good method for very few people, and Bobby doesn't think Rory'll be one of the few. Leading questions are probably best. "So John didn't understand something you did, and that's how this started?"

"Pyro burnt my drugs. I came in and I was just putting them away, and he was awake. I thought he was going to start asking questions. I wish he had started asking questions, but he didn't. He just burnt them. He doesn't understand."

Bobby has no idea how to respond. Drugs were a thing for normal high school students, for thugs on the street and for housewives needing uppers to get all their shit done. Drugs didn't belong at the academy.

"Hold me, would you? Or touch my back?" His voice is bleak, like he expects Bobby to deny him this simple comfort. His arm is across Rory's shoulder before it even occurs to him to wonder why the blond would want this. If this is what someone needs, then Bobby can give it. He won't even question it, though there's a difference between asking and wondering.

"It's not that I'm trying to spread the gay, I know that freaked you out. Though from what I heard, you switched over without any help. Ahah." The chuckle is weak and dies almost as quickly as it starts. "I just, touching helps keep me calm. And when I'm not calm, that's when the fires start, and I can't control them. Pyro can, but I can't, I can only make things burn. And I know it wouldn't hurt you, but I think if I made a fire and you froze it, I would only freak out more."

"Right. Because my power disgusts you." It's difficult to keep the pain out of his voice, Bobby knows he hasn't done a good job when Rory lifts his head up and stares at him.

"Okay, that wasn't what I said when we talked about that. And I didn't think you'd hold it to heart, or I wouldn't have said it. 'M sorry. I seem to be fucking up all over the place."

For the second time in a day, Bobby has someone throwing themselves to him for a hug. He has a feeling that this time it's crucial to reciprocate, so he lets Rory curl to him. He does his best to not frost as he rubs his left hand down Rory's arched back. The noises he makes are nothing more than nonsense words, sibilants like _hush_ and _shoosh_ whispered into the air. He hasn't had much practice for soothing as of late; Piotr and Sam don't have nightmares. Still, he does his best to parent Rory, only stopping when the blond pulls away.

"So John caught you with drugs, and he burnt them, and you got mad, enough so that your control failed?"

"I don't take it 'cause I like it. I don't even get anything off it. But it keeps me mellow. I have to stay mellow. I have next to no control Bobby. I try, but I just don't."

Deciding he'll go back to the drug thing in a minute, he asks what confuses him. "But I've seen you purposely start fires."

"When I'm not on drugs, everything that causes emotional stimulation makes a fire. Being excited, being angry, being sad, being happy. Nearly everything made a fire. I had to stop going to school, I couldn't write a test, or look at my mark after it was handed back. And it was a ridiculous spiral, because if I didn't look, I would obsess about what I got until that obsession got so prevalent I'd start one from stress. Every single thing I did, Bobby, every fucking damn thing I did made a fire. So I left, and stayed with my sister. And she told her doctor she suffered from obsessive thoughts, so he gave her Prozac. And it worked, so I started taking it. But Pyro doesn't like that I'm taking it illegally, so when it found it this morning, he burnt it all."

"Yeah, but I still don't get it. If whatever you started taking made you stop making fires, how are you still making them for John to make designs with? I see you guys doing it all the time." a lump in his throat develops thinking about how happy they've been, making fires with each other.

"Because it turned a switch in my head. I went from my automatic response being fires, and only the strictest self-pressure sometimes preventing them, to, well... It's like it put a blanket over myself, so if I chose to lift the blanket I could have fires, but the blanket stayed down otherwise. Things have to be really really strong to move past the blanket. Like why I got rescued by Storm. Or this morning. Pyro tried to steal my blanket, and my fires fought back."

It makes sense, though the analogy is strange.

"Bobby, find out if Pyro's okay, would you? I don't know what happened. The last part I know is he burnt my pills." Rory puts his arms around his legs again, and leans away from Bobby's touch. He knows a dismissal when he hears one, knows sticking around can only provoke control breakdown. Not that it sounds like Rory has any in the first place. He stands and leaves.

He doubts if Xavier will be leading him back to the elevator. He's not done making things right. Hell, he hasn't even started making things right yet. When the whispered turns lead him to another door, he walks in knowing exactly who will be inside. What does surprise him is the state of the room. It doesn't look like a releasing room, or at least not one meant for a firestarter. The room has a rug and a iron frame bed. John's lying on the bed, snoring.

Bobby's not about to leave, but it seems cruel to wake up his ex-roommate. Instead he sits on the concrete floor in the corner and bides his time by making rosettes. He gets caught up in forming the detailed petals, enough so that when John mutters 'hey', Bobby jumps.

"Hey. Move over." It's practically his duty as best friend to invade John's personal space, and besides, sitting on concrete is making his butt numb. Splaying himself on the still warm mattress, he looks at the fireshaper. "So, what's up?"

"I'm not hurt. I'm just tired. Really tired. And sore. Pen made a lot of fire, we're talking California forest fire style. I had to pull as much into me as I could." Bobby learned the same late night he learned about not using the fire hurt, that to pull too much back hurt too. Like the ache of holding your breath until you passed out, except all over.

"That sucks. You did a good job though, everything's fine. Your room is gone, but even the door survived, never mind the hallway." He knows without asking that's what John's worried about, that he wasn't able to do good enough to protect everyone.

"Iceman, let me tell you, I thought the entire mansion would be gone. I've never seen that much before, not even at your parents place. It was like the air was fire, the only things in the room that weren't were me and him. It hurt, to drag it into me."

"But you're not burnt." It's a statement, not a question. Bobby's looking over as much of John as he can without removing the blankets and fussing, and he can't see any scars.

"Fire doesn't burn me. It likes me. I guess it likes Pen too." It's the first time he's heard John use that nickname Rory suggested, he knows it means something that John's finally using it. He's just not sure what it means, can't read the subtext to understand. "If I was hurt, they'd put me in Dr. Grey's old lab. But I'm not. I just needed to sleep, still need to. One only has so much they can take before they collapse. I guess old baldie knew if I was put as a third in someone's spare bed, I'd be woken up every thirty seconds with people peering in the room."

"Yeah, no one will shut the fuck up. It's driving me insane. Some of the younger kids think that you're going to get kicked out. Because you 'messed up' your powers." Bobby rolls his eyes, and is gratified to see that John thinks the idea just as stupid.

"Hah, like they'd ever kick anyone out. They're not even going to do it to Pen, and he's the one with the drugs."

"I talked to him, from what I've heard it's medication. Like, not real drugs."

"Bobby, you didn't see how much he had. And medication can be drugs, it just depends on if the person taking it is stupid. I don't want to talk about it. He really fucked up, Bobby. Can you stop talking, and just...? I need to go back to sleep."

There are so many more things Bobby wants to say, but instead he crawls up the bed. He lies beside John, outside the covers, and drapes his arm over the boy. It doesn't take long for the snoring to start again. It takes longer for Bobby to figure out how to compress the few words John's said into something that he can pass along. Only when he has the start of a conversation ready, does he get up.

This time, it doesn't take mental instructions to make his way to Rory. It's only a few hallways until he reluctantly pushes open the door to the blond's temporary room.

"He's fine." It's not much in the way of hello, but the weary smile Rory gives him is better then a common greeting. "He's pretty mad though." And the smile dies, and that's not a nice sight.

"You explained that it's not a fun thing, that I need them?"

"Yeah. He thinks that drugs are drugs are drugs."

"But... I need them!" A spark shoots across the room, but there's nothing for it to attach to, and it dies in air.

"Rory, I know. I think if you talked to him, made him understand, maybe. Things could still be okay, I think."

"I can't talk to him. He'll want to break up. I'm not going to put myself in that situation. If you could wait after the don't be gay debacle, I can wait too." Bobby objects to it being called a debacle, but knows better then to say anything. "Please, can you just tell him that I didn't do that fire on purpose, that that's what I need the pills for?"

"Part of his problem was that he thought you had too many. Like maybe he thought you were trafficking them or something. I dunno."

"The normal dose is 20 to 60 milligrams. Harsh cases can go up to 80, but it's not recommended. I take 100 a day. That means that I need five pills a day. What I had is what I need. You have to tell him I'm only doing what I have to, to get by. Please, would you?"

Being the messenger is getting old, quickly. But Bobby nods, and leaves. He finds John's room and walks in. The noise of his feet wakes John up, he yawns but doesn't sit up. "You talked to him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, he's in one of the releasing rooms. He's still all fucked up." John doesn't respond, from where Bobby's standing he can't even tell if John's eyes are open. "John, he says he's not trafficking them, he's just taking them."

"I know he's not trafficking them. I never said he was. I know he's taking them. But I also know he's taking over prescription, and judging from the way he freaked out about me burning them, he's completely addicted." The blankets do nothing to muffle the anger in John's voice.

"He says he needs them. That they make him okay enough to go through the day."

"Bobby, don't you know anything?" His voice is hard, like he's actually angry at Bobby's denseness. "That's what every druggie says. The junkie says it about his heroin, the tweaker says it about his crystal, the stoner says it about his pot. Everyone that does a drug, needs a drug. Him needing it doesn't excuse him taking it."

"It's medication."

"It's an addiction." The tone means discussion closed, but Bobby can't go back to Rory with this.

"What should I tell him?"

"That I don't date fucking drug addicts. That the next move is up to him. That I'm fucking sleeping, and unless someone's bringing me food, everyone can fuck off. Good night Bobby." The blankets rustle as he turns over, and Bobby is not looking forward to carrying the ultimatum to Rory. How can he be the one to threaten a relationship he doesn't even like?

*

Both are now theoretically back in classes, though John hasn't taught anything in the last three days. Rory's nowhere to be seen either, several of the girls are faithfully writing notes for the two. They're both in alternative rooming, the charred hell that is 216 isn't fit for a human being. Bobby has offered to sleep on the floor and give John his bed, the resounding 'fuck off' was a obvious no. It kills him to see John in the makeshift family housing, rather then in his own room in his home. But by all rights, everything should be back to normal. They lost control, but every mutant does at least once. They're supposed to be in class, and they've got their beds back.

Things are not back to normal, and once again it seems like it's up to Bobby to fix things. That box is getting old, glued seams falling apart. Pretty soon Bobby's not going to be the fix-it man anymore. Things aren't normal because John and Rory are uncomfortable, which makes him uncomfortable. Bobby in turn affects Piotr, Sam, and Rogue, and Rogue affects all the younger children. It's not much of an exaggeration to say the comfort of the academy rests on the ability of these two boys to get along.

As he climbs the stairs to the second floor, he tries to plan out what he's going to say. He doesn't have much, only that they both need to get over it. Really, at this point he'd fail diplomacy class.

There are five beds crammed into what used to be Scott's room. The teachers are nearly always gone, and they've all decided they don't each need their own suite. Instead, all their belongings are in one room, which gets traded off for when anyone is actually home. Though Rory doesn't have any belongings, Bobby knows which bed belongs to him. It's obvious; the bed is the only one with two duvets stacked on top of each other. Looking back it was a bit of a clue, over medication can lead to feeling bone-cold, as well as lack of appetite and the obvious extremely mellow behaviour.

The blankets are so lumpy it's impossible to tell if there's someone actually underneath the covers, so Bobby approaches quietly. When he goes to shake the teen, his hand sinks through the duvet and he knows there's no one. It's not a total loss though, moving the blanket reveals a piece of paper on the pillow. He picks it up and with a sinking heart reads it. It's short, to the point.

 **I needed them. Sorry.**

It doesn't take a genius to know what Rory's referring to. It's vague enough that only the right person would understand it, only he or John or a telepath reading them would understand the reference. Again he wonders about the shaky ethics of the telepaths growing at the Academy, how they'll survive without Jean Grey or Xavier's attention. For the last two months it's been everyone for themselves when it comes to lessons on power. Really, not that much different than the time before that, there are no Ice 101 classes. When you're the only one with an ability, you teach yourself how to use it. It's the general morals that need to be taught, and if there are no available adults, Bobby's going to have to do something.

He stands with the note in hand, for once just thinking about Rory. Not how he's connected to John, not how his power is so much more applicable to everything Bobby wants to be than what Bobby actually has. He thinks about the few things he knows about the teen. The casual comments during the depressing days when Bobby had to watch the two be a couple, and what they built to. The way he was happy to only use his power in making other people happy. The way on his first day he was willing to pass the buck to another student and avoid confrontation with his sister.

When he really thinks about who Rory is, he knows what's happened. And he knows that John needs to know.

He goes to the wing that holds the classrooms, on the slight hope that John's finally decided to hold another English session. He hasn't, and neither is he playing video games or Slam! with any of the card kids. Just as Bobby's about to give up and go ask Jean Paul for tutoring on media awareness and advertising, he gets a shot of luck. John and Piotr are sitting together at one of the many desks in the library.

"It doesn't make any goddamn sense!" is the first thing Bobby hears as he nears them. Without looking at the notebooks and sprawled papers, Bobby knows it must be algebra. John has never understood how X's and Y's stand for numbers. He'd never ask, but he'd venture to say John finds the idea of profaning words and phrases and letters by assigning them concepts of numeracy evil and completely wrong.

"John, can we talk a minute?" They both look up from the papers and while Piotr's curious, John's much more wary. Still, he throws his pencil down with relief and follows Bobby to an empty corridor of shelving. Not that it matters, a number of people could be reading their conversation right now. It's an illusion of privacy more then a fact of it.

"What's up?"

"He left." There's no need to name names, they both know exactly who Bobby's referring to.

"Should I cry?" Anger, Bobby was expecting. Or a nice episode of shooting the messenger. But complete disregard, sarcasm? Neither were on the list of expected reactions. He's not entirely sure how to respond, he'd been preparing for anger.

"Uh? You can do whatever you want, John."

"Really though, will crying make you happier? Because right now you're looking at me like I've seriously fucked up. So tell me best how to fit your expectations, and I'll go at it."

Ouch. Struggling to not visibly wince, he speaks. "No, crying won't make me happy. Don't be stupid. I just wasn't expecting you to not care. You were dating him three weeks."

"Yeah." John's tone couldn't be more flat, he has no idea when John's become emotionless, but it's freaking him out. John doesn't do emotionless; John does huge flares of emotion with high intensity and long duration. "I was dating Pen. And he was dating drugs. So am I going to cry that he left me for them? Fucking no Bobby, I'm not. Okay? Not going to happen. Been there, and doing the crying thing didn't much help. So no. Sorry if I offend you."

Again, ouch. With a side measure of shocked, because John doesn't talk about his before-the-academy times. There is no way Bobby could have known that John's past had involved drug users, but he still feels like shit for making him think about it. Leaving the past alone ranks high up there in mutant etiquette.

"Fuck off, no you don't offend me. And I know you say you don't care, but I'm sorry he left. He should have stayed, could have worked things out with his powers."

John's shaking his head. "You didn't really know him. Hey, I guess I didn't either. But he was really a path of least resistance kind of guy. Working out and through his powers, when there's a simple solution in sight? No. Not for him."

"We do though. And you're not going to leave, not again. And I won't ever."

"You're getting pretty damn sappy, Drake." But he looks relieved at the idea, so Bobby doesn't care he's being mocked.

"I'm not ever going to leave you," he repeats fiercely, "and maybe someday we'll _be_ together."

John's expression is first one of consideration, rapidly changing to wariness. Watching his face, Bobby can almost see the list of reasons why this would be a bad thing compile in John's head. "I'm not kissing you, Bobby."

"Did I say I expected you too? Don't jump to conclusions so quickly. And go finish your damn math, so we can verse Jubilee and Remy in Rummy." John flips him off, the evils of math already beckoning. With a scowl he rejoins Piotr. Bobby's willing to bet within a half hour Piotr will give up for the day, and the pyromaniac will be available for cards. He knows from experience that trying to teach John math is about as pleasant as having Rogue touch him without her gloves.

He sits on one of the overstuffed armchairs, waiting. He can't help but think that having your opponent walk away from the fight is the weakest way to win. In fact, he's not even sure he can call it a win. He didn't have a chance to try for a second round, though he knows he would have bounced back from John's rejection. And there's been no prize awarded; he doesn't actually get to have John.

But Bobby lives in a world where battles and skirmishes are as frequent as blinking, and war is looming on the horizon. A weak win is still a win. Bobby has fought, and Bobby has won.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the soundtrack challenge on Dry_ice. Originally posted as a serial, the chapters were inspired by:
> 
> the sky's on fire, but I am safe in here, from the world outside. (what it is to burn, finch)  
> you took the path of least resistance, on the phone, cutting out, talking (grey ice water, modest mouse)  
> after all this time, would you ever wanna leave it? (blind, lifehouse)  
> no other box I choose to use (every me and every you, placebo)  
> how you decieved, you deceived, I never thought you would do that to me (judas, kelly clarkson)  
> everything I know is wrong (the hardest part, coldplay)  
> I think too much then start talking mean (bad best friend, nada surf)  
> if it feels alright, maybe you can stay the night (hot blooded, foreigner)  
> I gotta make you mine, I want you to feel good I want you all the time (stay, birds of tokyo)  
> you're as cold as ice, willing to sacrifice our love (cold as ice, foreigner)  
> this is nothing new, no no, just another phase of finding what I really need. (volcano, damien rice)  
> you'll take your steps away with hesitance, you'll take your steps away from me (cautioners, jimmy eat world)  
> tonight you're out burning another fire. now we've run out of time, out of luck, out of everything, now you're gone, gone to find what you need, what I don't provide (come to nothing, evermore)  
> I wanna love you but I better not touch, I wanna hold you but my senses tell me to stop (poison, groove coverage)  
> we have gone through so much worse then this before, what's so different this time that you can't ignore (make this go on forever, snow patrol)  
> you brought your flame where all's been condemned to dark (flame, bell x1)  
> yeah you had a breakthrough, and now i'm just bad news to you (keeper, yellowcard)  
> only when I think about you, I know. only when you stop to think about me, do you know? (I hate everything about you, three days grace)


End file.
